


The Woman in Black

by tanwencooper



Series: Three Times a Lady [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Secret Society, Sexual Tension, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 71,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being inducted into the secret White Order Stiles has spent all summer trying to come to terms with his new found powers, while still trying to keep his relationship with Derek a secret from the world. The Order are offering no help and keeping his affair from his friends is beginning to take a toll on Stiles.</p><p>When Lydia Martin, the girl Stiles has loved since he was seven, returns to Beacon Hills she is a broken husk of the woman she used to be. She turns to Stiles for support, putting even more strain on his and Derek's already troubled relationship. </p><p>A new horror is never far from the horizon though, and as the body count starts to stack up once more Stiles has no choice but to turn to the woman in black for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 12 Pack

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of 3. If you haven't read [Woman in White](http://archiveofourown.org/works/586314/chapters/1053770) I'd start there.

Stiles leaned back to look down the aisle of the drug store. Just seeing who was around. No big deal. Picking up some shower gel, more band aids, shampoo. You know the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to see here. What aisle was this anyway? Birth control. How did he end up here? No one he knew was hanging around. Just Stiles, going for a walk down the aisle. If he happened to grab a few 12 packs of condoms as he walked past and quickly shove them under the other things in his basket who was there to know?

Stiles had been having sex with Derek for a few months now, all through the summer vacation. He wasn't sleeping with him, because Derek never slept over. At first Stiles had gone a few towns over to stock up on condoms and lube, in case his Dad found out, but it had become such a regular thing now that he'd have to drive back and forth every other week or buy so many that store clerk got suspicions about him being a hooker or working in porn.

He just needed to get his refill of Adderall and then this ordeal would be over until the next time. Stiles tried his best to look innocuous as he walked up to the line of people waiting to pick up prescriptions, which of course only made him look even more suspicious. He was suddenly very aware of all the people around him. The mom with two kids fighting by the sunblock. Behind him was a washed up alcoholic with shaking hands. Looking at skin care was a woman with sunglasses that covered half her face despite the fact that they were inside. An old lady was having an in depth conversation with the small dog she kept in her purse.

Without calling it he felt the Web shift into his vision. At the same time he started his liasons with Derek, Stiles had been initiated into the ancient order of the Weiss Rat, a council of clairvoyants who controlled the supernatural world from behind the scenes. It hadn't affected his life as much as you might think. Sure, he dabbled with trying to control the visions of the shifting future but it was difficult and gave him migraines when he tried too hard. If he was meant to see something, like a car that was about to hit him, he did. If he tried to sneak a peak ahead at tomorrow's test he could see it, but was rewarded with a blinding headache that rendered him unable to study meaning he actually did worse than if he'd just spent his time doing it the old fashioned way. What he could control was his visions of the Web, the links and chains that connected every living being. When he wanted it, it was there but sometimes, like now, it just clicked on without warning. Experience told him there was usually a reason when it did.

The mom was woven with the pale pink tendrils of love to her children, though they crackled with black sparks of hostility as the little darlings screaming and wailed. The old lady was wrapped in pink as well, linked to her dog as strongly as any mother. The links of everyone in the store shifted and changed, their different colours like a rainbow of emotion colouring the air. He frowned, noticing the woman with the sun glasses. Around her was a blank patch, absent of anything, like she was shielded from his gaze. She was turned away from him now, all he could see was the back of her long black coat.

He was about to investigate more when he was called up and he handed over his prescription to the pharmacist. Waiting for them to call it in, Stiles looked back over his shoulder to the woman but she'd moved away. His vision caught on something and he turned round further. The man behind him, the alcoholic who couldn't keep still, was burning with an aura of black aggression. When he looked up at Stiles a bolt of burning darkness shot out of him, striking Stiles in the chest so hard he staggered, even though he knew it wasn't real.

Before Stiles knew what was going on an arm was clamped around his throat as the man held him in a headlock. Stiles felt cold metal press into his temple. The barrel of a gun.

“Nobody move! Gimme all of your morphine, oxycodone, Valium, everything in a bag on the counter now or I swear to God I will blow this kids brains out!”

Why couldn't he have seen this one coming?

The store erupted into screams. A man ran to the door, but the gunman was quick, firing off a shot that missed him by inches. He cowered and didn't move, shivering in fear. The gunan might have been a drunk once but he was sober now.

“Any one tries to leave, anyone calls the police and I shoot this kid in the head.”

“Oh God,” Stiles managed to get out as he pressed the gun back into the side of his head. The barrel was hot now and burned his skin.

He reached out with his mind, trying to search the patterns of the future, trying to find some way out of this but found nothing. Don't panic, mustn't panic. This was nothing. This was just a nutjob with a gun. He'd been in worse scrapes before. He breathed in slowly, remembering the exercises from when he used to get panic attacks. Calm down. Think.

Again, he reached out trying to call the future. The image of a gun being fired and blood spurting out the side of his head filled his vision. It was a warning. Stop looking. Stiles knew how he died, he'd known that first night he'd put on the white coat of the Weiss Rat. It wasn't here and it wasn't now. He'd get through this. He might still get shot, of course, but he would get out of here alive.

In the distance he could hear kids screaming, terrified out of their minds. He could hear the panicking clerk stacking the boxes into a carrier bag, the robber shouting at her to go faster. The pills were rattling from her shaking hands. Somewhere, hidden behind a stack of shelves someone would be calling the cops. Calling his Dad.

“I should probably tell you something,” said Stiles. “The kid you got in a headlock, namely me, is the son of the Sheriff in this town. You shoot me and he won't give a damn about due process. He'll just gun you down on the spot.”

“Shut up!” said the drunk. “You're not helping yourself kid.”

The man tightened his grip on Stiles' throat making it hard to breathe. As the robber leaned back to shout at the pharmacist Stiles was lifted up, his feet skitting across the floor. He couldn't fight this guy off, not with no purchase, not while his powers were eluding him. He had to try something else.

“It's true,” he squawked. “He's very protective of me. Since my Mom died I'm the only reason for living. If I died I think he might go crazy.”

“I know who your mother was, Stiles Stilinski.”

That shut Stiles up. Everyone really did know his Mom. Stiles tried to turn his head to get a better look at the guy, but the robber tightened his grip on Stiles' neck until he began to see spots. Was this guy a werewolf? Or one of the other thing found in the Hale's bestiary.

“You should never have been born, you stupid little brat!”

The man ground the gun deeper into Stiles' skull. He knew he wasn't going to die, knew it in the very core of his being, but he couldn't stop the adrenalin pumping into his system. His whole body was trembling and he was having to blink back the tears even though he didn't feel like he was about to cry. He wanted to kick, to bite, to lash out but the steel against his temple was telling his body to freeze. Nothing his brain said could overpower his survival instinct.

“Wh... who are you?” Stiles managed to get out through his chattering teeth.

“Name's Mark. Mark Johnson. Not that you'd know who I am. I'm just the guy who got there too late. The guy who wasn't good enough.”

Stiles' heart rate was racing so hard he thought it might break his ribs. Where the hell was a werewolf when you needed one? Stupid Derek. He wouldn't have had to come alone if it wasn't for the condoms. The room was silent except from the sound of Mark's breath against his ear and the whimpers of terrified children being hushed by their mothers.

“Mark...”

The voice came from one of the aisles. A voice he knew.

“What are you doing Mark?”

A woman stepped out into view. Dark hair flowed down around a painfully familiar face. The white of her coat shone in the florescent lights. Her eyes were dark and tired. She stretched her hand out towards them.

“Why don't you let my son go Mark,” said Stiles' Mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful cover art was done by [MidoriEyes](http://midorieyes.tumblr.com/) who is magnificent and you should go look at her stuff. Now.
> 
> As always constructive criticism is very much valued. Good or bad please let me know what you think. 
> 
> You can also follow me on [tumblr](tanwencooper.tumblr.com). Enjoy the story!


	2. The Woman in Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a gun pressed to his head Stiles can't believe it when he sees his mother appear. But is it really all that it seems?

 Stiles closed his eyes before opening them. She was still there. He wasn't hallucinating.

“Jane?” said Mark. His arm relaxed from around Stiles' throat so that he could breath more easily, but it still held him.

“Yes Mark. It's me Mark. What are you doing?”

She stepped towards him gracefully. Her hand was still outstretched towards him.

“Jane. But you're... you're dead.”

“Yes,” she said. Her face was utterly placid. No emotion. Dead. “I am. But you're trying to hurt my son, Mark. Don't hurt him Mark.”

“I... I...”

“Put the gun down Mark.”

His Mom was back. His Mom was here again, come to rescue him, like she'd been that day in the graveyard when she'd possessed his aunt.

Stiles looked harder. He saw the worry lines where there should be laughter. Even though she was keeping her face serene and expressionless he could still see the hardness. The coat she wore wasn't some celestial robe, it was a lab coat the store workers all wore to make them look more professional. She'd hastily thrown it on over her clothes. The woman in black who the Web seemed to falter around, it was her. It wasn't his mother. It was her twin, his aunt. Angela. The woman who had dragged him into the family business and then abandoned him.

Rage swept over him, but he bit down on his lip and struggled against the arm that still held him fast.

“It's okay Stiles,” she said. “I'm here now. It'll all be alright. Why don't you put the gun down Mark and let my son go. Do it for me Mark. Please.”

Mark stopped pushing the gun into Stiles temple, letting it fall away. He looked at it like he was surprised to see it in his hand.

“You never even looked at me,” he said. Stiles could feel the tears running down Mark's face onto his hair. “All you ever saw was Officer sexy pants and his great bit gun.”

“That's not true Mark. I saw you. I saw you everyday.”

“Everyday?” the man said, his grip on Stiles loosened again. “You saw me everyday. But... but.. I only saw you at the office.”

Stiles didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that the man was loosening his grip on him.

“You know what I mean,” she said calmly. She was only a few feet away. “Every time we were there I saw you Mark. I saw you.”

“No,” said the man. “No you didn't. You didn't even know I existed. You called me Matt for three years. Jane?”

She was close enough to reach out and touch him now. Her face hardened, snapping to his aunt once more.

“Guess again, asshole.”

She punched him square in the jaw.

The force of the impact made him stagger backwards, dragging Stiles with him. Stiles fell down to the ground, slipping out of the headlock and rolled away to safety. Mark raised his gun and fired blindly. Angela had to drop to the floor to avoid the wild bullets, giving Mark time to run to the door.

His aunt didn't even look at Stiles to check he was okay. She just waited for the gun to stop firing, then ran after him, shrugging the lab coat off on her way.

Stiles was aware of hand on his shoulder. Voices swam in his ears as he struggled to his feet. His neck still hurt from the vice grip. A worried face appeared in front of him telling him to sit down, he was in shock. People were asking what the hell was going on. A child was screaming about ghosts.

He needed to get out of there.

He ran after the woman, bursting through the doors. They were halfway across the parking lot, dodging past cars and pushing pedestrians out the way. The air filled with siren song. Someone had called the police.

Stiles ran towards to police car as it appeared. Please don't be him. Please don't be him. Not now. Not before he'd had a chance to explain.

The car pulled up and Stiles watched as his father got out, reaching for his gun as the robber ran past. He wasn't looking. There was no warning as Stiles' aunt slammed into his father. The Sheriff took a moment to recoil in horror as the woman who looked exactly like his dead wife shoved him out the way and carried on running. Across the parking lot from each other, father and son watched as the woman ran out into the road after the attacker, making cars screech to a halt in her path. One didn't quite make it in time and hit her hard in the side but she caught it with her shoulder, rolling up onto the car's roof and dropping down the other side. It didn't even make her break her stride. 

Stiles didn't know he was running after her until he was on the other side of the road. He wasn't the only one. Half the store was running out to look. It was like TV, only it wasn't. It was his life. He wished they'd all go away.

The gunman stumbled. He was fast but Angela was a freaking athlete who could jump over cars. She grabbed him by the back of the collar, spinning him into the nearest car, banging his head against the roof.

As she read him his Miranda rights, the sound carried over the parking lot. Out the corner of his eye Stiles could see his father walking forward like he was in a dream. With his supposedly dead wife returned to take down the thief who threatened to shoot his son, in a way he was.

“Jane? What the hell! Is that really you Jane?” cried out the man pinned to the car.

“Nope. Name's Angela. Twins. My sister's dead. She didn't love you. Get a grip on yourself.” 

The man struggled, swearing violently so she slammed his head hard into the car roof. The coolness with which she did it was terrifying. No anger. Only practicality.

“This is police brutality!” cried out the man.

“Actually it's FBI brutality so suck it bitch,” said Angela. She spoke with the same flat calm she always did that only made her violent words even more detestable. “Funny thing about twins is people always seem to think we're the same. But we're not. Janey, she got all the nice. Me, well I got the all the hard ass bitch. You threatened her son and Janey would have easily put a bullet in your brain. If it was me...” she leaned in close, “I'd pull out your fingernails first.”

Another man, also dressed in black, appeared with a set of hand cuffs and clipped them over the man's wrists taking him over towards the police officers. Stiles was already there. He pulled back his arm and punched his aunt square in the jaw in front of a dozen witnesses, many of them cops.

“You are NOT allowed to do that!” he screamed.

Angela stood up slowly, rubbing the point where he'd hit. Her eyes darted sideways to the man in black and shook her head slightly. He'd been reaching for his gun.

“Leave it,” she said. “I deserved that.”

“You're not her! You're not allowed to pretend to be her! It's not fair! How could you do that!”

Fury was making his whole body weak. They were stood in the middle of the road still, stopping traffic dead. Angela reached out towards him but he threw off her hand, stepping back from her.

“Don't touch me!”

He marched towards the side walk, Angela matching him stride for stride. She spoke without shame.

“It was a necessity. You were going to get shot in the head. If you would have preferred that eventuality then I am sorry, Little Red.”

“Don't call me that! And don't start getting sarcastic. You don't get to be sarcastic.”

“Then what do I get to be?”

“I don't know! You come back into my life without warning, pretend to by my mother when you know...”

When you know that last time I saw you, you were my mother, if only for a few minutes. He still remembered her eyes glowing with celestial flame as she'd stopped the heart of the alpha who was trying to kill him. He'd held her in his arms as she faded away again and the fires went dead. But he couldn't say that, not with all these people watching. Not while his Dad was.

Oh god. His father. He'd heard it. Heard everything.

Stiles looked back over his shoulder searching for his father. He was leaning against his cruiser, staring at the woman in horror.

“Go to him,” said his aunt. “Talk to him. I'll find you later.”

“I don't want to talk to you ever again.”

It wasn't true, not in the grand sense, but right then in that moment Stiles would be happy if he never saw that woman again. She said nothing, just nodded, pulling her hair back into her slick high ponytail as she went to talk to one of the other officers on the scene. 

“Dad? Dad you okay?”

His father's eyes swung away from where Angela was holding out her ID to the officer, explaining the situation. It was one of the new deputies that had been brought in to replace the ones that Matt had had Jackson slaughter. She didn't know who his mother was, didn't know what she looked like. Angela was just some random woman to her.

“What's going on son?”

Stiles could hear the agony in his voice. It wasn't just from the sight of his dead wife. Where to start? What was he supposed to say? She's inducted me into the family secret society of wizard people months ago and I didn't tell you anything about it. She calls me every few weeks with supernatural hijinks I should go check out. Should he just lie through his teeth?

“She showed up a few months ago,” he said deciding that as much truth as he could muster was the best policy. He remembered what she'd said. FBI. Probably a lie, but he'd take it. “She was working on a case.”

His father shook his head still staring at her. It was the same look he'd worn himself the first time his aunt had shown him her face. The shock of recognition and then searching for the small differences, the tiny things that made her face Angela and not Jane.

“You knew,” his Dad's eyes slowly turned to him. “You knew and you didn't tell me.”

“I... I...”

It hurt too much to look at his father.

“I thought we were getting better,” his father said. “I thought you were being honest again. No more sneaking out to go kidnap your school friends or always being right in the centre of the biggest trouble. No more lies. Then I find you're keeping something like this from me!”

He was upset, Stiles knew that was why he was being like this, but it was true. All of it.

“I... it's... I can explain.”

“No. I can.”

Stiles' Dad's eyes went wide as they turned to see his Angela walking over. It was her voice that was the most different. Level and controlled from a life of responsibility where his mother's had been full of laughter and joy. She stood with her hands on her hips and for the first time Stiles noticed the gun tucked underneath her black jacket.

“Agent Angela Weiss, at your service. I apologise for the deception Sheriff, it was a necessary evil. I was in town investigating a case a few months back when I ran into your son. I'm sure you can appreciate the shock he felt, and I felt myself. I hadn't seen Jane since we were both seventeen. However I was undercover at the time, hence the reason I didn't let myself be known to you. It was a dangerous case, one that has only just been resolved. At first Stiles didn't want to keep quite but that was before the gunfight and he realised the danger he'd put you both in if they realised I was related to you.”

She cast a look over to Stiles' shoulder. The scar from where he'd been shot by an alpha to save Derek was still there. 

“But that was... you told me that was Derek Hale. That it was a hunting accident.” 

“Derek Hale didn't shoot your son, Sheriff Stilinski,” said Angela. “I did.”

Stiles' Dad looked like his head was about to explode. Stiles felt the same.

“You got shot. By your mother's twin, who is an FBI agent, then tell me it was some guy who I've arrested for murder.”

“Again, my idea,” said Angela stepping in to take the fall again. “Derek was also involved, I can't give the details. It seemed best the best option. I am sorry for the deceit, but it was my deceit and a necessary one. I assure you, Stiles is not the one to blame in all this.”

She gave a curt nod, then walked back to the man in black. They were probably pretending to be partners or something. Stiles looked across at his father. He was shaking his head.

“Go home Stiles.” He sounded tired. “Go home and we'll... just go home.”

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away. He still needed to try and get his prescription somehow. Whatever the next days were bringing he really didn't want to have to face them with the full weight of his ADHD on his shoulders.

 


	3. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles comes home after a long day to find someone waiting for him.

 Stiles pulled into his driveway an hour later. It had taken forever to get the prescription filled. Everyone kept coming up and asking him questions. As soon as she'd realised that he'd been the one held at gun point the deputy had refused to let Stiles go until he gave a statement. It wasn't much, just a quick debrief of what had gone down in the store. She gave him the number of a councillor specialising in victims these kind of crimes that was already in the trash. He'd been the pawn in people's power plays enough times to know how this worked now.

As soon as his Dad _had_ found out he'd been held up at gun point there had been a good ten minutes alternating between yelling, crying, more yelling, hugging and finally telling Stiles to go home, lock himself in the basement and never come out again. Ever. He was too much of a trouble magnet to be allowed out.

Stepping out of the car he cast a look up to see his window was closed. He'd left it half open. Could the man not call first? He considered just sitting downstairs and watching TV until his Dad came home but he should at least go talk to the Derek.

There wasn't much time for talking. He stepped into his room to see Derek sitting in his chair staring up at him with lust and that was that. Within the minute they were both groping for each others' belt buckles as they moulded into one another on Stiles' bed. Stiles' body was alive with Derek's heat and fire. Every part of him was aching to touch Derek, to be touched in return. His legs demanded to be freed of his pants, they wanted to wrap around Derek's waist, pulling the two of them together. Derek's tongue ran down the length of his body as he striped Stiles, ending with a brief suck of his big toe that made Stiles' hair stand on end.

Stiles lost himself. There was nothing in the world but the man who was grinding against him, groping his ass, fingers playing, paving the way for greater things to come.

“Damn it!”

Stiles lifted his hips away from Derek's touches, only for him to grab on more decisively and swirl his fingers more meaningfully.

“What's wrong?” Derek asked. He was as drugged as Stiles was, intoxicated by each others' bodies.

“I don't have... I don't have any... I was at the drug store... Couldn't buy...”

The words wouldn't come out right. He tried but then Derek moved his fingers or kissed him hard on the neck, teeth grazing without biting and Stiles' tongue went dumb and thick in his mouth. He wanted to wrap his mouth around Derek, not speak. He never wanted to talk again except to beg and moan and plead and to tell Derek never to stop.

“Okay,” said Derek. His fingers slipped away from Stiles, caressing the smooth skin of his backside and clambered on top of him. “We'll do something different.”

It wasn't the first time they'd been caught out by their lust. In the woods when Stiles had been out for a run. In the back of his Jeep after a chase through the woods had got their adrenaline up and neither of them could hold back. Behind the animal shelter when Derek had been to see Deaton and Stiles had been trying to find Scott. Any time they were alone together, this thing grabbed a hold of them, pinned them both to the wall and made them rut and screw until there was nothing left but oblivion.

Derek pushed Stiles' legs together, trapping his cock between Stiles' strong thighs. Stiles knew the drill. His own dick was pushed up between them, rubbing against the undulations of Derek's abs while the were' bucked, screwing away between Stiles' thighs. He could feel the length of Derek press between his cheeks. His ass was begging to be filled, his legs wanted to wrap around Derek's waist and squeeze but he had to resist. Instead Stiles reached over to his bedside table, and pulled out the lube.

“Please,” he moaned. “Put your fingers in.”

Derek slicked up his fingers, then shifted him up, lifting Stiles half off of the bed. It was an awkward angle, Stiles trying to support himself while still keeping his legs clamped around Derek. His muscles seared with the effort, but he didn't care. Derek was thrusting his fingers back and forth inside him, taking his time. Stiles would put up with hot pokers in his eyes if it would keep this feeling inside of him.

Grunting Derek dropped him and flipped him over. Stiles couldn't help but raise his ass up, inviting Derek. He didn't care if it wasn't safe. What about his relationship with Derek was safe? It was raw and brutal and wild.

Derek brought Stiles onto his hands and knees, clamping his legs back together with his own cock firmly placed between them as he stood at the end of the bed. Now the tip of Derek's cock was sliding up against Stiles' balls, tilting his hips so that the length still rubbed against the groove of Stiles' ass, a tantalising show of what they were denying themselves. The familiar sensation of Derek's fingers spreading his ass as he delved in again swept over Stiles and his hand shot to his dick.

It wasn't long then. It never was long when it was like this. Derek could go for hours and hours when he wanted to, leaving Stiles in a ruined heap, but not today. Today it was fast and furious.

Stiles bit down into his pillows to stop himself from screaming as he shuddered through his climax. A minute later he felt the warm wetness spurt against him as Derek came as well. Stiles slumped forward his whole body turned to jelly as his brain returned to working order. Derek flopped down on the bed beside him, breathing heavily. The man could run miles without breaking a sweat but Stiles always left him panting. It was a small victory Stiles savoured.

“I needed that,” said Derek.

Stiles had needed it too at the time, to be lost in Derek and think about nothing else. Now he just felt empty, drained. He swung his legs to the side of the bed. His legs were slick with come and lubricant. He had used to love that feeling. Now he just wanted to take a shower.

“You okay?” asked Derek. His arm was slung up over his head and his eyes were closed, mind somewhere else.

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “Just, you know. Hard day. I think I'll go take a shower.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgement as Stiles wrapped himself in a towel and walked out. He didn't rush in the shower but let the warm water run over him, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders. When he went back to his room Derek was gone.

It was always that way with them. Derek would turn up here or Stiles would turn up there or one of them would call. They would have sex and it would be amazing and Stiles would think he was about to explode from the sensation. Then it would be over and they would go about their lives like it had never happened, like it hadn't happened countless times before.

Stiles threw open the window fully trying to get the smell of sex out of his room so his Dad wouldn't get suspicious. They were always careful to make sure that no one was around when they got together. Just another in the long list of things that he was keeping from his father. Derek. Werewolves in general. His aunt.

Rubbing his neck Stiles sat down at his desk and got the box out of his drawer. Angela had sent it to him a few weeks after the night they'd killed Gerard in the graveyard. It was an old wooden box with a trick catch that had taken him an hour and a half to work out. Inside was a child's box of memories. Photographs primarily featuring two young girls with identical faces, his mother and his aunt. Ticket stubs and cocktail stirrers. A broken shell and a pretty stone. The things a child thinks are important but a seventeen year old on the run doesn't think to take with them. The note that came with had said his Mom had left it behind. Angela hadn't added and removed a single thing.

He looked through the photographs. Even the most recent ones of them on their seventeenth birthday didn't look right. They were both beaming out at the camera over a massive cake adorned with sparklers. It was his mother, he could tell that, but seeing the two of them side by side felt wrong. It was like having a twin had diminished his mother somehow, like she'd had half of her individuality leached away.

There were dozens of other people in the photograph. How many were the family he'd never met? Between the two of them was a boy who looked about thirteen smiling so broadly the top of his head might have been in danger of falling off while another man in his early twenties hoisted him in the air. Brothers perhaps. There was a couple in their mid fifties, the grand father he'd been named for?

He dropped the photo back into the box. He'd nearly gone mad trying to find his mother's past before. Now it had been dropped in his lap he couldn't bear to look at it. He rubbed his hand over his head in frustration before sinking into his chair. This wasn't doing anyone any good. He needed to get his head back in the game. School started again in a few days. Perhaps that would help with the routine, the discipline and not having Derek invading his life 24-7.

You could tell your life was screwed up when you were looking forward to school starting again.

He heard his Dad pulling up outside and decided he'd better put his clothes back on. Was his Dad concerned about the number of showers his son was taking? Probably not, he'd just think Stiles was doing what any kid on the cusp of seventeen was doing and jacking off twelve times a day. Which, he realised, was kinda true. It just wasn't him doing the jacking.

“You just sit down in here and I'll get you something to drink,” his Dad said to someone in the hall.

“Thank you Sheriff” came a timid reply. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Go ahead. Third door on the left.”

Stiles opened the door to see who it was, expecting some waif or stray his dad had picked up on the way home from work. She was already standing there ready to knock on his door. Stiles stared into the hazel eyes that had been missing from his life for months. It was Lydia.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's back in Beacon Hills, but she's a shadow of her former self and turns to Stiles for support.

 Stiles felt his mouth fall open. It was Lydia. Lydia was standing in front of him. Lydia, who had run away with Captain Jackson the Magnificent five months ago was standing in his hallway. Thirty minutes after he'd just had sex with Derek Hale.

Crap.

“Hi.” Her voice was timid and weak. Completely un-Lydia. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Oh crap, oh crap.

“Sure,” he said trying to seem his usual awkward self. He stepped out the way holding the door for her, casting an eye across the room. It was reasonably tidy except for the bed, which was a mess of sheets from where he and Derek had just been going at it. Oh Jesus, please don't be any jizz on the bed. Stiles tried to check as calmly as he could but Lydia took it as a sign that she should sit down there. Oh God!

“So. It's been a while,” he said.

She nodded demurely, arms wrapped tightly around her own waist.

“I know she said. I thought I'd better come back before you all fell apart without me.”

Her laugh was forced, an obvious lie. 

“Why are you here exactly. I mean in my room, right now. Not that I mind but, why?”

She looked down at her knees. They seem more prominent than before and it was then that Stiles realised how much weight she'd lost.

“Your Dad called my parents but they're away and it'll take them until tomorrow morning to get back. I didn't want to sit around at the police station all day, so he said I could come stay here.”

Stiles looked at her more closely. Her eyes were darting around furtively, her entire stance was defensive. No wonder his Dad had wanted her somewhere he could keep an eye on her. Her hair, always so perfect and precise, was wild and unkempt. She wasn't wearing any make up and her nails were all broken and jagged.

“Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, the answer was obvious. She shook her head, her eye lids flickering against the tears. She raised a finger and delicately wiped them away.

“Do you want me to ask what happened?”

She let out a little laugh at that.

“No. Not really. Thank you for asking though, rather than just... just...”

The tears won out. Stiles didn't think. He sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped her up in his arms. He stroked her hair as he hushed her and held her close. She grasped onto his shirt and sobbed. He held her tighter and rocked her backwards and forwards slowly, constantly reassuring her even though he didn't know what he was reassuring her about.

His Dad appeared in the doorway, looking concerned and drawn by the sobbing. Stiles just shook his head. He had this. Quietly his Dad closed the door behind himself.

Lydia sat on the edge of his bed crying for a good ten minutes before she began to let up. She sniffed loudly and wiped a finger across her nose. Stiles reached over and grabbed a tissue, passing it to Lydia. 

“Thank you,” she said. She wiped her nose and handed it back to Stiles. “Still think I look beautiful when I cry?”

Stiles laughed as he brushed away a hair that had matted itself against her sodden cheek.

“Yes. You are,” he said. It surprised him that he still felt it was true. “Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles had had enough uncontrolled bouts of hysteria to know that sometimes what you really needed was a good cry.

“Wanna talk about it now?” She shook her head. “Well, in that case I'll talk. It's what I'm good at after all. Hmm... where to start? I made first line after they finally realised what a mass of raw talent I am. Scott and Allison are back together, sickeningly happy and attached at the lips, I'm sure you remember how it works. Erika and Boyd are together now, also sickeningly happy. Isaac is gay, he was in love with Scott but I didn't just tell you that because no one is supposed to know especially not Scott and it doesn't matter because he got over that and is now sickeningly happy with Danny.”

'And I forgot all about my life long crush on you and started screwing Derek, in fact I was doing to twenty minutes ago on very spot you're sitting on', he thought to himself. That was just plain sickening to think of right now.

Lydia was smiling. The tears in her eyes made them sparkle. Crying really did make her beautiful.

“Wow. I missed a lot,” she said.

“You were gone for what, six months? A lot happens in six months.”

She went quiet again, nodding and wrapping her arms around her middle as if trying to keep herself from breaking apart.

“It's okay. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. This is a safe space.” He tried his best to sound like a cheesy cable show and it seemed to work as he was rewarded with another smile.

“You were always so nice to me. Even when you were being horrible to me, you were still being nice.”

He cringed as he thought back to the night when he'd first been beaten up by Gerard, telling her how he'd feel if she went and got herself killed.

“I'm sorry about that. I was angry at... I don't know, everything I guess. Gerard, Scott, all the people who've died on me. I felt helpless and I took it out on you. I'm sorry.”

“I know what you were trying to say,” she said. “You just wanted to keep me safe. It means a lot to me. I mean it.”

She pulled herself up straight and ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Taking a deep breath to steady herself she got up and began to walk around the room. Stiles followed her with his eyes. She was looking at his shelf of photos, picking up one for a closer look. 

“This your Mom?” she asked.

He nodded. It was one of the last photos he had of her before she started getting sick. They were by the Grand Canyon pretending to fall in. They'd had a contest to see who could do the most convincing flail. His Dad had won.

“You must really miss her,” she said.

Especially when a replica bursts in on you without warning every five minutes. He didn't say that though, he just nodded sadly and looked away, his eyes falling to the ground. There, sitting on the floor in broad daylight, was Derek's jacket.

_Crap!_

Stiles swept out with his foot, kicking it backwards towards his laundry pile, hoping Lydia would just think it was a new fashion choice on his part. Her attention was elsewhere though, as she picked up another, larger picture.

“Team photo?”

“Yeah. Old one though, from when we all went out to get burgers after one of the big games. I can't remember which. I was in my usual defensive position of twenty feet away from the balls at all time, stopping the opposing team from stealing the bench, but hey, I got in the picture at least and a free burger.”

The frame slipped from Lydia's fingers. Her eyes were wide in horror. She backed away into the shelf her entire body trembling.

“Lydia?”

Stiles grabbed her by the shoulder, placing another hand against her cheek, her hair caught in his grip. She looked up, suddenly remembering he was there and blinked.

Without warning she tilted up on to her toes and kissed him. Her lips were soft and gentle. Her tongue flicked into his mouth as it fell open in surprise. He'd always imagined she'd taste like strawberries. In reality she tasted like the stale coffee she'd had at the station.

How this had happened he didn't know but he jerked back. He put his hands gently, but firmly on her shoulders to keep the distance between them.

“You're upset,” he said more to himself than to her. “I'm not going to take advantage of that.”

She fisted her hands into his shirt and leaned against him, pulling herself in close. He put his arms around her again, needing to feel protective.

“Thank you,” she said.

He leaned against the top of her head. Her hair smelt like the coconut shampoo she always used. On the run and probably living out of a trunck, she still stuck to her hair care regime. He rubbed his cheek against the soft locks without meaning too when a movement caught his attention and he looked to the window.

Derek was looking straight at him from his window sill. His face was rigid, nostrils flaring, brow firmly furrowed.

Against him Lydia moved her head to look up at him.

“What's wrong? You've gone all stiff.”

He looked back into her bleary eyes and gaped for a bit. Before he could stop her she looked over to the window. Stiles' chest constricted as he waited for the screams but they didn't come. The window was empty.

“I... I just can't believe I'm actually here holding Lydia Martin in my bedroom, who just kissed me and I'm actually awake.”

'Yeah. That's right. You're holding Lydia Martin. She's here. She just kissed you. This is real. So stop thinking about freaking Derek!'

Laughing she stepped away from him.

“And Lydia Martin is about to ask if she can get into your bed. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in days. I don't think I can handle the whole parents situation when I'm this burned out. Do you mind?”

Stiles looked at the bed. What was he going to say? No, I just had sex with Derek in that. She was right, she looked completely wiped, like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in six months. It'd be fine...

“Sure,” he said. “I'll just go downstairs and-”

“NO!” 

She grabbed his hand as he tried to leave, anchoring him in the room. Despite her dainty, delicate hands she had a grip like a vice. She relaxed suddenly, realising what she was doing but still keeping a hand on his arm. Looking him straight in the eye she said, “Stay. Just until I fall asleep. I feel safe here but I'd feel safer if you were around.”

He nodded dumbly as she led him to the bed, kicking off her shoes. As she climbed in under the covers, he sat on the edge watching her curl up and make herself comfortable, like some woodland creature settling down for the winter. He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

For a while he sat looking at her, following the line of her jaw, the fullness of her lips and the way her hair was spread out over his pillow. It was easier to look at that perfect face than it was to sit considering the rest of the world. Right now, he was pretty tempted to just curl up and go to sleep as well.

He scratched his chin as he stood up, careful not to wake Lydia from her much needed rest. Lydia, asleep in the bed he'd just had meaningless sex with a man he didn't even really like that much in, because his dead mother's twin sister had pretended to be a ghost to stop him from getting shot in the head by a stung out drug addict. Hell of a day!

The glass of the picture frame had cracked when she'd dropped it. The lines of the fractures were perfectly framing the face in the centre of the picture.

Jackson, screaming in victory.

Stiles turned back to Lydia. If that bastard had hurt her, then by god, he was going to hunt him down and kill him himself. Creeping as quietly as he could Stiles made his way downstairs.

His father was sat at the dining-come-police investigation table. There was a single report open in front of him with Lydia's high school photo pinned to it. He looked up when his son walked in.

“Is she...”

“Sleeping. She was pretty whacked.”

His Dad stood and walked over to his son, hugging him.

“What was that for?” Stiles asked when he stepped away, leaving an arm around his shoulder.

“Because you can never be sure when you'll get to do it again.”

They stood in quiet thought for a moment.

“I'm sorry for not telling you about Aunt Angela.”

He felt his father go tense against him, his breathing stutter.

“It's okay son. I know you didn't have a choice. She's a fed'. Are you doing okay?”

Stiles nodded.

“Yeah. It's not the first time I've been held up at gun point after all.”

“Well it's going to be the last! If I have to chain you up in the basement and never let you out again, I can promise you that much.”

They laughed. Stiles looked up at the ceiling thinking of the woman upstairs.

“What happened Dad?”

“One of my officers picked her up a few miles out of town, just walking down the highway. Recognised her straight away from all the posters and brought her in. Not been able to get a thing out of her. It's like she's shell shocked or something. She say anything to you?”

Stiles wanted to tell his Dad that it was Jackson, that they'd gone on the run together and he'd hurt her. But Jackson was dead. At least that's what the police thought. The fact that he'd turned into a giant lizard and cocooned himself with goo wasn't exactly pubic knowledge and was probably best kept that way.

“No,” he said. Lying again. “She was pretty freaked out by a picture of Jackson. She just said she felt safe here.”

“That's good. She's lucky to have a friend like you.”

Stiles nodded. He looked up the stairs at his bedroom door, trying to work out what could possibly make Lydia that spooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say only this Sterek fans: trust me, I know what I'm doing.


	5. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day back and Stiles is ready to help Lydia face the stares. Unfortunately he wasn't planning on a little impromptu family visit.

 “I am a mature, confident woman. I am in control of my own destiny and do not rely on the opinions of others to create opinions of myself. I am the best that I can be and must always strive to be better.”

Every strand of Lydia's hair was in perfect position, make up immaculate, shoulders straight and poise correct. She was back.

“You don't have to go in if you don't want to,” said Stiles.

It had taken a few frantic phone calls and stamped feet but Lydia's parents had managed to get her back into classes. Her grades had even been good enough that she'd been allowed to stay in the same year and didn't have to repeat the grade. Her parent's had wanted her to skip the first day, to ease into it gradually but Lydia had insisted the only way to get back into her old life was to hit the ground running. The only condition she'd had was that Stiles, and not her parents, had to give her a ride in. She had latched on to him, made him her rock when everything else was shifting and Stiles couldn't really bring himself to mind.

They were sat in the Jeep, Lydia reciting her affirmations as she psyched herself up. There would be pointing and staring. There hadn't been time for word to get round that she was back. Stiles had even been banned from telling Scott and Allison because Lydia needed time to readjust by herself. It would be a hard day and Stiles was ready to be there with her.

“Okay,” she turned to Stiles. “Let's do this.”

They got out the car. Immediately he heard the first hushed 'oh my god' as someone saw her. She didn't even break her stride. A quick check of her make up in the wing mirror, then she turned and marched up to school so fast that Stiles had to run to catch up with her.

Scott saw him first and waved from the steps. Allison was standing at his side and swung round to look. Her eyes went wide as she saw Lydia. Jumping the steps in one go she ran towards her friend and grabbed her tightly.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Nice to see you too.” Lydia laughed it off like it was all a big joke, like they'd just seen each other yesterday and wasn't this reaction ridiculous.

“Where the hell have you been! We thought you were dead or kidnapped or...”

“No, still alive. I see you and Scott are back together-” Her voice shook slightly, only noticeable if you were paying as much attention as Stiles was. Lydia's eyes were avoiding Scott. “Good. It was so annoying having you two trying to kill each other.”

Allison turned to Scott as he jogged up beside her. He looked at Stiles, who tried to give his best 'don't go there' glare. They seemed to get the hint. Lydia does not want to talk about where she's been.

Lydia took a half step back from Scott before catching herself. She linked arms with Allison and started to walk towards the school, head held high against the shocked looks around them.

“What's going on?” Scott asked in a whisper.

“She just showed up in town a few days ago, my Dad brought her in. She won't talk about anything.”

The girls had stopped for them to catch up, so Stiles hurriedly dropped the subject.

“So. You guys hear about that crazy robbery the other day?” Lydia asked.

“You mean the ghost one?” said Allison.

Stiles went cold. Once again he'd been saved by the Protection of Minors Act and his name had been kept out of the papers, but everyone knew about the robbery that had been averted by a woman pretending to be her long lost dead twin sister. Sooner or later everyone would know, but Stiles would prefer it to be later. As much later as possible. 

“Weird isn't it,” said Scott. “We've got actual werewolves running round this town and it's the fake ghost that makes the papers.”

All four of them were in the same home room. They sat down as Coach Finnstock handed out their new timetables.

“One of you will probably have a clash somewhere in your schedule. If so, I suggest you pick your least favourite of the two and just ask for the F now.”

Stiles looked down at the little blocks, all nice and neatly arranged for him. For six hours a day, five days a week, his life would be perfectly ordered. It would be neat and easy. There was a knock at the door and Coach went to answer it.

“What?... Now?.... well okay then. Listen up idiots, I have a very, very special treat for all of you fornicating hormone bags. This lovely lady is Nurse Clarence. Nurse Clarence is going to tell you all about how to stop your various reproductive organs from rotting and falling off and I really suggest you pay attention.”

Nurse Clarence was a friendly looking woman in her late fifties, still dressed in her scrubs.

“Thank you very much Mr Finnstock,” said Clarence. “That talk actually comes later in the semester. I'm just here to tell you all about the sexual health clinic that will be running all week in the parking lot across the street. Whether you are sexually active or not I really hope that you make your way over there and get checked out. It's all done completely anonymously, your parents will not be informed and we can answer any questions that you may have with complete anonymity. We have all kinds of information and we'll be handing out as many free condoms as you can carry even if you are under age, so please do come along.”

She smiled at them all, casting a glance across the room of embarrassed teenagers. Stiles suddenly felt like everyone in the room would be able to tell from his glowing face what he'd been up to. They'd be able to smell the sweat and sex. He looked around. No one was staring, though there were a few similarly uncomfortable looking students. Some were scratching parts of themselves unconsciously.

“You heard the woman. Get your syphilitic asses over there by the end of the week or you all fail Econ. Got it? Great.”

Scott leant over, looking worried.

“Can he do that? I mean, can he fail us if we don't go?”

“He's being sarcastic Scott, you should know what it sounds like by now,” said Stiles. “Let's see what you got?”

Scott had squeaked through to the next grade by a wing and a prayer. They were taking most of the same classes so that Stiles could help drag him through this year as well. With no werewolves or hunters trying to kill him with any immediacy, Scott was determined to not spend half the year flunking half his classes again. Stiles had tried to reach out with his Vision and check the horizon for any incoming trouble, but it was patchy and confused. He couldn't tell which bits were set in stone and which were possibilities. The night of the fight had been so clear cut and definite he thought it would always be like that, but most of the time he could only see clearly when they situation was pressing down on them. His Sight was unpredictable and out of his control.

The whole class looked up as the door slammed open and his aunt marched into the room. He heard Scott and a few others gasp in recognition and look in horror at Stiles as she strode across the room towards him, holding out an ID card towards Finnstock as she went.

“Angela Roberts, FBI. Terribly sorry to disturb you, I'll just need to borrow Mr. Stilinski for a moment.” She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of his chair, dragging the desk with him for a few feet before he could untangle himself. “Thank you very much, Goodbye.”

She slammed the door shut behind her and shoved him into the hallway.

“What do you think you're doing?” Stiles said straightening his shirt.

“The Council has a mission for you,” she said. Infuriatingly placid as usual.

“Yeah, well I'm not talking to you!”

“Noted. The Council still has a mission for you.”

Stiles chewed on his lip trying to stare her down, his mind was filled with a thousand possible futures as he looked for the way to stand against her. Most of them ended up with his head being smashed against a locker. One of them ended with him getting shot again. He jerked his whole body in annoyance. 

“I've been playing this game a lot longer than you Little Red, I know how to work the visions.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me Little Red,” he snapped.

“You did,” she said, “and I ignored you.”

She smiled at him, smug and self satisfied.

“Are you even allowed to be here without an escort or something. Doesn't the school have rules against that sort of thing?”

She waved the ID card in her hand.

“Yes, but you'd be amazed at the things this little number will let you get away with.”

“So that's why you're pretending to be an FBI agent? To creep around my school without getting caught?”

She was dressed the part. Head to toe black, with a jacket that Agent Scully would be jealous of. 

“I'm not pretending to be an FBI agent. I am an FBI agent” she said. “I'm a member of the council, but I also get paid by the Bureau. Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop Mr McCall? Yes, I know your listening. Now go back to talking to your pretty little girlfriend before I really make you pay. We have a dozen different Councilmen in various government agencies. When they get a case that seems to be more our thing they send in one of us. We get the backing of a publicly recognised organisation and don't have to hide what we're doing from the cops. They get all their little paranormal problems sorted and then it all just gets swept into that big folder marked 'need to know only'. Win-win.”

Stiles blinked at her. She'd not broken her stride even when she'd been admonishing Scott in the next room.

“How... how did you know... Scott?”

“I told you. I've been at this game a lot longer. You'll be able to do it too one day. After we've trained you up a bit.”

“And when are you going to do that exactly?” he asked. “You come in here, dump all of this on me and then just disappear off while I'm still in hospital. I get a few phone calls and then you just drop in again one day when I'm about to get shot in the freaking head. How is any of this helping anyone?”

She blew out a long breath, letting her body slouch before straightening up again.

“You needed to come to terms with your new powers. When someone first takes the White we leave them be to work it all out for themselves a bit, let it all settle in. Let me guess, you've worked out that looking into your own life gives you headaches, you can't always tell the 'could' from the 'should' and for the most part you can't see too far ahead.”

Stiles stared at her in silence.

“Most of this is just about feeling your way, trusting in the power you've been given. If you are supposed to know, you'll know. You're body will take care of itself. This isn't an exact science. The future isn't solid yet. The further ahead you go, the bigger the ripples get. This decision could lead this way or that to two new decisions which split and so on and so on. Sometimes you can see things if they are certain enough, but the details will be blurrier the further off it is.”

“What's the point in seeing the future if I can't see past the end of the week?” Stiles asked. “Or if every time I try to look at something useful I feel like someone has buried an axe in my cerebellum.”

“The headaches only happen when you look at your own life. If you see what your going to do, it will affect the actions that you take. You change the future, which changes your actions, which changes the future and so on until you get a paradox and BAM! Migraine. We weren't given this power to make our lives easier. We were given it to help protect others. But we have to be careful with it. This thing doesn't make judgement calls, it just shows you the facts. You could have gone a different way that night in the graveyard, let Gerard live. You chose not to because of your view on the situation, the same with the alphas. Another person with the same information might have made a different choice.”

Stiles had seen the other choices. He'd seen the piles of bodies that came from letting Gerard go. The news reports that came when the monster was caught on camera. The witch hunt that followed. He assumed that it had been his own powers trying to tell him how important the task was but now he wasn't so sure.

“Why couldn't you just tell me all this before I used up the state's supply of Advil?”

“Because the lesson taken from adversity is all the more potent...”

“For the struggle in learning yadda yadda, I remember.” She'd said it to him while they'd waited, watching his friends being beaten bloody.

“Well I'm glad that we got to have this little impromptu lesson in the finer points of clairvoyance,” she said, “but as I have said repeatedly before: The Council has a mission for you.”

Stiles straightened himself up, deciding to put aside his troubles with his aunt. He'd decided to take the White. That meant something. It wasn't something to be undertaken lightly.

“Go on. Hit me with it. Mission for the super secret, shady government organisation taking out the supernatural bad guys.”

“We're not a government organisation,” she sighed. “We help each other out. It is a mutually beneficial situation.”

“Good to know. So what's the dealio? Hunt down a ghost? Show the neighbouring wolf pack who's boss? Take out a rampaging hoard of possessed raccoons?”

She looked at him and blinked slowly.

“You're mind must be a strange, strange place to live. The mission we had in mind was a little different.”

“Oh,” he said. His interest was peaked now despite his anger.

“Yes. We need you to go the Sexual Health Clinic.”

He stood there, gaping like a freshly landed bass. Was she serious?

“This is a joke right. Scott's still listening, you're trying to make me freak out right now.”

“No. Scott still thinks I'm your Mom, he's terrified of what I might do. I, meanwhile, am very much serious.”

Stiles put his hands on his hips and twisted on his heels.

“Are you... are you kidding me with this? I know you're my aunt and everything but could you stay out of my sex life for like three minutes?” He paced away, leaning against one of the lockers. “Besides I've only ever had... relations with-” He looked towards the classroom, not entirely convinced that no one was listening in to their conversation, “you know who and they're a... you know what. I'm pretty sure they can't get anything and we were careful and oh my god I need to stop talking right now or else I'm going to have to kill myself.”

Angela had closed her eyes, gripping the brow of her nose. She spoke slowly, as if dealing with an idiot child.

“I don't need _you_ to go. I need _all_ of _them_ to go. Scott. Allison. All of Derek's puppies. The lacrosse team. The drama club. The Mathletes. Everybody you can persuade.”

“Why?” he asked. “Is the Order really that worried about the spread of gonorrhoea in Beacon Hills?”

“That is not your concern,” she said.

He was going to hate that phrase he could tell. He bit his tongue, but it must have been written on his face. She spoke more softly this time.

“Sometimes we have to hide things from each other to make sure we act in the right way. Spontaneity is a good thing Stiles. You can't think that you're going to know everything just because you can see the future. That's how you end up in a whole heap of trouble.”

He saw her point but it was still really freaking annoying. He'd joined the Order to be in the loop, not shoved out onto the edges of yet another group.

“How am I even supposed to get them there? They all think I'm still the pathetic virgin of the group, why would I need to go to a Sexual Health clinic?”

Her smile took on an evil edge.

“You could always tell them the truth. The big bad wolf used you and abused you and so now you want to go get yourself checked out and could they please come along for moral support?”

“Oh yeah, because that would go down great. Derek would actually rip my throat out if I did that.” 

_With his teeth_ , Stiles added mentally and the image of Derek grinding his teeth against his neck made him want to run to the bathroom for a little Stiles' time.

“Besides,” he said trying to dispel the image from his mind. “He doesn't use and abuse me.”

She looked at him with something resembling concern.

“Of course not. I'm sure your feelings are entirely mutual.”

Her voice was flat but it conveyed more than if she'd rendered it in song. This thing between him and Derek had grown and changed over the months they'd been at it. Whatever it had evolved into, Stiles was pretty sure the only thing that was mutual was the masturbation.

Angela nodded her head at the door to his classroom, leading on. The whole class turned to look as she held the door open for Stiles. Scott was squinting at Angela, trying to work out if it was just a freaky look alike.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr Finnstock.”

“He's not part of some drug cartel or anything is he?”

“No no. He was involved in an incident the other day. Just helping us in our investigations aren't you Stiles?”

She smiled brightly at him.

“Yes. I am being a great help to my country.”

By dragging a bunch of under-age teenagers to a sexual health clinic for no apparent reason.

“Model of a young man here,” she said putting an arm around his shoulders. “You should all look up to him.”

Finnstock looked at Stiles like he was a cat who was barking.

“Stilinski?”

“I'll leave you to it. Stiles,” she said by way of a farewell.

“Aunt Angela.”

There were enough people in the class who knew his Mom, it wouldn't take them long to put it all together. The kid who'd been held up at gunpoint, the dead mother's twin sister, it would be round school by the end of first period. He could already see mobile phones being tapped at under desks.

“That's your aunt?” Coach Finnstock said, his eyes following her posterior out the door. “Damn.”

As Stiles dropped down into his seat, Scott tried to catch his eye. He shook his head and went back to his notes. Later. He'd worry about all this later.


	6. Casual Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to the STI clinic. It is very awkward.

 One of the good things about the shoddy sex-ed program at Beacon Hills High School is that when you need to fake a new strain of syphilis that can be caught from toilet seats, has no initial first symptoms but that will make your hair fall out if left untreated by a simple course of antibiotics, it only takes a few well placed tweets and text messages to get half the school down to the conveniently placed sexual health clinic. 

The added bonus effect was that is changed the topic of school gossip away from Stiles and his brush with another gunman. He'd given Scott and the others the broken down version of his brief history with his aunt. It had been Lydia who was the most annoyed by it all. They'd spent the weekend together, why didn't he say anything?

Coach Finnstock had helped him out with his 'mission' too. Stiles had been all set to suggest the grand trip together, hey won't it be fun being prodded and poked in their most private parts when Isaac had pointed out Stiles was a virgin, and therefore had no call to attend a sexual health clinic. Didn't he know that syphilis rumour was bullshit? 

Wasn't having a secret relationship great? 

Then after lacrosse Coach had gathered them all in the locker room.

“I'm sure you've all heard the rumours about some new cock rot that's getting passed round all of you like popcorn on movie night. Most of it is horse manure, but there's got to be some reason to start a rumour like that. I am NOT loosing any of my players because you don't know how to roll one on your little mister. By the next training session I want to see proof that each and every one of you has been to that trailer across the road or you will end up on the bench until I do.”

“Isn't that a violation of privacy or confidentiality.”

“You got a problem with it Greenburg? Take it up with the bench.”

That was how Stiles came to be standing in line the next day, missing his lunch hour so that he could get checked out. 

“This is ridiculous,” said Scott. “I can't even get anything and Stiles hasn't even had sex.”

Stiles hoped that Scott wasn't listening too closely to his heart beat as it skipped. He tried to cover it up with sarcasm.

“Jeese, thanks man. You really know how to make the pathetic virgin feel better about themselves.”

“Aww...” said Allison rubbing Stiles on the head. He slapped her hand away.

“You really don't need to come here as well,” Scott said to her. He was looking really awkward. Surely going to an STI clinic with a girlfriend in tow was less embarrassing than going as the woeful singleton.

“Yes. I do,” she said. “If we're old enough to have sex then we have to accept the responsibilities.”

“Yes Scott. Listen to your girlfriend,” said Isaac. His hand was firmly planted in Danny's back pocket. The two of them were adorable and the sight of them together always made Stiles smile, even if it also made him slightly queasy from the shear amount of sweetness. That had been his handy work, his first foray into the world of oracle had been getting the two of them together.

“You can never be too careful,” said Danny.

Stiles looked across to where Boyd was standing with his arms wrapped round Erica. His eyes were closed as he buried his face in her hair and she stretched up to hold him, rubbing her arms up and down his neck. God they were weird. Must be a wolf thing. Marking each other with their scent or something. 

Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine but it took him a moment to understand why. Derek had never done that with him.

He wished Lydia had been able to come, then he might not have felt quite so single. Her parents were keeping pretty strict tabs on her, for obvious reasons, and she'd had to go straight home after school kicked out. The idea of standing in line to get her lady parts prodded hadn't really seemed to appeal to her anyway. She was still pretty skittish around Scott and the other wolves. Whatever had happened with Jackson, Stiles was pretty sure it was to do with his inner wolf. He wished he could get out of this as well. He wasn't sure what was going to happen in that cubicle but he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

“30127! You're up next.”

Stiles looked down at the number on his ticket. He could hear the funeral march playing in his head. Scott gave him a comforting slap on the back as he stood up to go. 

The nurse was a not unattractive woman in her mid thirties, who exuded comfort from every pore. 

“Good afternoon, I'm Nurse Jan. Just sit up on the bed over there.”

She started off by taking a few sketchy details, just enough to contact him with but didn't ask his name at any point.

“When was the last time you engaged in sexual contact? Oral, penetrative, mutual masturbation. Anything where another person was involved.”

Stiles went bright red. He could feel the heat welling up from the core of his soul. How could this lovely woman just ask him that straight off the bat?

“Uh... day before yesterday.”

The nurse waggled her eyebrows as she noted it down.

“Lucky boy. Was your partner male or female?” She didn't even blink as she asked.

“M... male.” He flushed hotter. Surely there wasn't enough blood in his body to blush this much. At least he didn't have to worry about a mistimed showing from his 'little mister'.

“Okie dokie,” said the woman checking down her list. “Was the contact anal, oral or external?”

“Ex... external but uh most of the time we... we...”

“You engage in penetrative anal sex?”

Sweet holy Jesus this was going to actually kill him. Screw what he'd seen in his death vision, this was how he died. His face exploding with embarassment.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

The woman looked like she was suppressing a smile. She probably got this all the time but that didn't make it any easier for him.

“You can relax. No one's judging you here. I'll just make a note on here. What is the nature of your relationship with your partner?”

How was he supposed to define his relationship with Derek, to fit in that tiny box when he didn't even know what the hell they were to each other?

“Do they have an 'it's complicated' option on there?”

“No, but I might just suggest it at the next staff meeting,” she beamed at him. “I'll put down casual boyfriend.”

Stiles heart rate must have doubled for a few moments. The idea of calling Derek his boyfriend, even a causal one, seemed ridiculous. He was worried that Derek might come smashing through the window any minute, demanding to know what he'd been telling people about them.

“Do you engage in sexual activity with any other partners?”

Stiles shook his head.

“How often would you say you engage in sexual activity?”

“I dunno. Few times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

Dissecting his love life like this, reducing it down to how many times a week the had sex, Stiles was quickly realising that there wasn't much else too it.

“We'll go with few times a week. When you engage in sexual activity do you use protection none of the time, some of the time, most of the time or all of the time?”

“All, or we don't do it.”

“Sensible young man,” she said.

Now that Stiles thought about it, it seemed weird. Scott just said he couldn't get any diseases, but Derek was just as much of a stickler about condoms as Stiles was. Which was just as well. If either one of them had not been fussed then there would have been a dozen times they'd have taken a dangerous road in the name of lust.

The nurse saw him looking off into the distance. There must have been a melancholy on his face because she put down her clipboard and scooted her chair across to him. Her voice was lowered, more comforting now.

“Sir, something seems to be bothering you. You're very skitish about your relationship with this man. If there's anything you want to say or get off your chest then this is a safe place to do it. If you are unhappy in your relationship for any reason then we are here to help you.”

She thought Derek was abusing him.

“It's not... it's not I'm unhappy. It's... it's like... I don't know. We have sex, and that is great, believe me, but then he just leaves.” Nurse Jan nodded. “Isn't that what every guy wants? Someone to give them the best freaking sex in the world and then walk away. No strings?”

The nurse leaned back from him and put her hands on her waist.

“Might I give you the advice of a woman who's been round the block a few times? It doesn't matter if you're gay, straight, man, woman whatever. When you've got two people in a relationship and one of them wants more and the other wants less all you end up with is a big nothing. Just because you're a teenage boy it doesn't mean you have no drive other than to shove your dick into anything that will have it.”

Stiles baulked at the lovely nurse in front of him, who was probably someone's Mom, saying 'shove your dick into anything that will have it'.

“Um. But I think... that might be the problem. When he's there, I don't have any other drive except to sh... to get off. Then when it's over...”

Stiles waved his hands. Then when it's over there's nothing but messed up sheets and come stained skin.

“You talk to the guy about it?” she asked.

“He's not exactly the kind of guy you talk to about things.”

“I'm really sorry. I wish I could help but... we're more set up for the 'my boyfriend's hitting me' and molesty uncles. You're on your own with this one kid.” She pushed her chair back to her desk.

“I don't know,” Stiles said. “His uncle's not exactly molesty, but he gives off a pretty heavy pedo' vibe.”

Nurse Jan laughed as she began to set out her tray of equipment.

“Sorry. We don't deal with pedo' vibe either. Not without some evidence. At least you and your partner are careful. That's the important thing here.”

“Yup. Funny thing is I'm not really sure why. I've never been with any one else, I'm pretty sure he's not with anyone else and he's clean as a whistle.”

The nurse clicked her teeth.

“You'd be surprised. Even with their super healing powers and immune systems, were's can still carry things like HPV and pass it on. They can catch diseases that don't effect you or me as well, but will do pretty gnarly things to them.”

“I didn't kn... what, what!” Stiles looked at her wide eyed. How had she... Realisation hit like a slap with a wet fish. “Oh my god! You're one of them, aren't you.”

She held up her pen at him which she carried on filling in the form.

“One of _us_ Mr Stilinski. One of _us_.”

He buried his head in his hands.

“You couldn't have said something before I started shooting my mouth off? 'Oh, by the way all the confidentiality thing is crap. We know everything about you from your middle name to that mole on your hiney'.”

“Do you want me to put the mole down on the form?” she asked. “I could have said something sooner but you had this big block of yellow in your chest. You needed to get rid of it and I don't think you would have done that if you knew I'd already been briefed on you by your aunt.”

Great. So now his aunt wasn't just studying his sex life, she was discussing it with strangers as well.

“Big block of yellow?” he said, settling on the easier topic of conversation. “What am I, a Lego man?”

“I have empathetic synaesthesia and you, sir, were yellow as the Simpsons.”

“Empa whosa what now?”

“Empathetic synaesthesia. It means I see people's emotions as colours. Yellow means worry, concern, lack of balance. You now have a slightly smaller lump of it, right here.”

She poked him hard in the sternum.

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you guys are here for,” Stiles asked. “I'm guessing all the nurses are Sentinels?” Nurse Jan nodded. “Well that's just great. So is this actually a front for some big plan or are you actually running a sex health clinic?”

“Both. All of this is going to go off and get tested.”

She held up the two vacutubes that would hold his blood to be sent away for testing.

“This one will be sent away to be tested for all of your common, garden variety STIs. _This one_ is destined to go to your Aunt and her little helper.”

She picked up the needle from the tray. The inch long shard of metal she was about to shove into his arm. To take his blood. He felt the blood drain from his face at last.

“Oh, don't worry. It's just a sharp scratch. _This_ is the one you want to be worrying about.”

She picked up what looked like a long thin cotton bud. He swallowed. Hard.

“I don't suppose there's a snowball's chance that's for the inside of my cheek?”

“No,” she grinned. “It's not. I'm going to need you to drop your trousers now.”


	7. Unknown Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets up with Derek to return his jacket and talk about what happened with Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dub-con warning. See notes at end for details.

 Stiles looked down through his messages. He flicked through until he found the 'Unknown Number' that a dozen texts back and forth.

7p _m. Usual place. S._

_**K. D.**_

He'd never been able to bring himself to label Derek's number. Derek hadn't had a phone before the two of them got together but they'd quickly realised it was a necessity. Anyone would be able to work out who it was in an instant if they saw the mix of werewolfery and obvious booty calls. That was all it ever was, their entire relationship summed up in a few words. Just a time and a location. Derek hadn't even bothered with that. Letters were all Stiles got from him.

Derek was already waiting in their spot in the woods when Stiles arrived. Stiles didn't see him at first but he could feel Derek somewhere nearby. It was a patch of heat on the back of his neck, like Derek was already behind him breathing heavily. The fire he always felt near Derek was already burning.

He could barely hear the light thump of Derek's feet as he jumped from the tree, landing behind him.

“I know you're there,” Stiles said.

Derek stepped up behind him, keeping back from touching Stiles as he sniffed the air around him, taking in the scent.

Stiles held the leather coat up to one side. He could hear Derek's breath jagger for a second before he grabbed it out of Stiles hand, tossing it aside. Spinning Stiles around to face him, Derek grabbed the back his Stiles' neck and breathed him in deeply.

“What are you doing?” Stiles said shoving him away sharply.

“You don't smell like her.”

Stiles looked at him in disgust.

“Oh my god. I can't believe you. You could just, you know, ask me about it.”

Derek flared his nostrils as he closed the space between them, eyes staring down at Stiles chin, then back up to his face.

“Fine,” said Stiles. “You want to be Mr Silent and Violent, I won't tell you. I'll just go.”

Derek barged his shoulder into Stiles' as the teenager tried to walk away, making his scar twinge. The scar Stiles had got saving Derek's life.

“Why were you kissing her?”

Derek's face was in Stiles', teeth bared and eyes beginning to tinge red.

“Which her would this be?” said Stiles. He could feel his heart tripping over itself but managed to keep his face straight. Derek smelt like the wild and madness. When he spoke it was spat through his teeth.

“You know who I'm talking about. Lydia.”

Stiles bit back another quip. He was pushing his luck as it was and when Derek was this close it addled his senses as the blood left his brain, deeming other tasks more important.

“She was freaking out. My Dad picked her up walking along the highway and brought her back to ours because her parents were both out of town.”

“And why was she _kissing_ you.” He spat out the word 'kissing' like it was the filthiest swear he knew.

“Because she was upset, Derek. She needed a friend to comfort her and you saw me push her away. What does it matter to you anyway? You're not my boyfriend.”

Derek grabbed the back of Stiles' head and kissed him violently on the mouth. At first Stiles fought back trying to push him away but then Derek's hands were delving down the back of his jeans, cupping the smooth roundness of his ass. Stiles whimpered in submission to his own desires as he grabbed at Derek again and let himself be backed into a tree. His shirt rucked up and he felt the hard edges of the bark scratching at his skin.

“Mine,” came Derek's mumble against his skin. “All mine.”

The werewolf's mouth had taken its usual course down Stiles' neck and collarbone, only to continue south. Pushing up Stiles' shirt out the way, Derek licked at Stiles nipples, sucking on them and grazing with his teeth. Wet, hot kisses left a trail of saliva down Stiles' belly until Derek was nuzzling the tender skin just above his waist band. It was only when Derek slashed through his belt with sharpened claws that Stiles realised what was happening.

He looked down to see the top of Derek's head as he wrenched Stiles out of his boxers, none too gently. It was like Derek was trying to stare down Stiles' erection before taking the head into his mouth. For a brief instant Stiles worried about what those claws are doing now and whether there were sharp fangs to go with them but then the hotness of Derek's mouth makes the world go wild about him.

The Web snaps into life around him. He was surrounded by spokes of gold and a haze enveloping both of them. Red. Dark, deep red, the colour of freshly spilled blood. He saw them together: as it started, how it was and how it will end all over laid, every sensation from Derek's first kiss that night to the moment not long from now when Stiles will throw his head back and keen. Derek worked down the length of his cock, taking every last inch in. Stiles couldn't tell if that was happening now, or in five minutes or already happened. 

Derek ran his hand down Stiles bare leg and suddenly his awareness snapped back to single track. It sometimes happened like that. He'd loose himself in the mists of sensation, his new found power taking control over him and setting him adrift in time. Then Derek would touch him and he'd be back with in the woods, living in the now. Maybe Derek could sense Stiles getting lost. Maybe it was just how this worked, a small gesture to connect him to the moment.

He'd buried himself to the hilt in Derek's mouth. One of Derek's hands was wrapped around him, squeezing his ass, the other was helping out front and centre. Right now it was rolling and squeezing his balls in a way that made Stiles' toes curl so badly he had to cling onto Derek's hair for support. The werewolf took this as a sign and began to assault Stiles' cock with vigour. Soon Stiles found himself grinding in time with the movement of Derek's head as it bobbed away, rising and falling, rising and falling. They'd never done this before, not where Derek was the one on his knees. Stiles wanted to ravage it, take it, claim it as his own but he held back. He couldn't stand taking what he wanted from Derek's flesh like Derek took what he wanted from his.

He felt a finger tease at the crack between his cheeks and that was it. He garbled out a warning to Derek but the man only clutched the two of them tighter against each other, sucking even harder as Stiles clawed his fingers into hair, flesh and bark. His calls were so loud he was sure the whole town would hear. It was only when he was done that he really appreciated that he'd spent his entire load into Derek's throat.

Derek leaned back and whipped the drool of his chin. He rocked back onto his heels and stood in one swift motion. Even though his trousers were distended from his own arousal Derek made no move towards it. Stiles slid down the tree, his legs no longer capable of supporting him.

“What was that?” Stiles panted out.

“I believe the kids call it a blow job.” Derek's voice sounded weird. Like he had a cold and there was some phlegm caught in his throat. Stiles nearly gagged when he realised what it was.

“Yeah but... you never...”

“Just reminding you why you enjoy our little sessions so much, giving you a little bit of what you really want.”

Derek wasn't smiling. In fact he looked down right grim.

“That had nothing to do with sex.” Stiles could see it clearly now. “That wasn't giving me what I wanted. This is never about giving me what I want. It was always Derek, Derek, Derek, taking what he wants and screw everyone else.”

Derek turned on him viciously.

“Those were your words, not mine.”

“Yeah, and I'd take them back if I could!” 

Stiles struggled to his feet in a mass of half removed clothes. He managed to get his pants back on, leaving him with some semblance of dignity even if he could still feel the sticky trail of Derek's tongue against his stomach. His sliced up belt hung limp from the loops. Broken. Unmendable. He put his hands on his hips and exhaled hard.

“I can't do this any more Derek.”

“Really? You're usually ready to go again at the next heartbeat.”

Derek was up against him again, hands running down Stiles' side. Stiles grabbed a wrist and spun away, moving in just the way he knew would make Derek's arm bend and force him back onto his knees.

“I meant _this_. All of this.” He let the arm go walking away from the man on the floor. “I can't... you can't just jump me every time you... I don't know. Want to exert your dominance or mark your territory or whatever the hell that just now was really all about.”

Derek stood up slowly, still rubbing his wrist in shock. Weak and feeble Stiles had hurt Derek the great and powerful. Whatever next?

“What are you saying Stiles?”

Stiles faced him properly. It was dim, with only the moonlight to see by but it would be enough for Derek. He'd be able to clearly see Stiles' expression, see how serious he was.

“I'm saying I'm done. I don't want to do this any more, not with you. What ever this screwed up situation between us is, it's over. I'm out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con warning: Stiles and Derek engage in an act which Stiles initially tries to stop and he regrets afterwards, but he is very much consensual during the actual act.
> 
> On another note: Please don't kill me. I'm going somewhere with this, I swear. You will be happy in the end.


	8. Coconut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia comes to stay at the Stilinski house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. The following contains scenes of a heterosexual nature that some readers may find disturbing.

 When Stiles got back home he could hear his Dad talking to someone in the living room. He recognised the other voice instantly.

“Lydia?”

She got up from her chair and stared at him when he walked into the room.

“Hi,” she said. She was skittish, all the false strength she had at school stripped away.

“What are you doing here?” he walked over to her, ready to hug her before remembering his Dad was there, that it was Lydia, what he'd just been doing with Derek. He couldn't.

“She's going to be staying with us for a while,” said his Dad.

Stiles frowned at him, then turned to Lydia.

“But I thought you were staying with your parents-”

He stopped when Lydia turned away from him sharply and walked straight past him. She ran up the stairs and a door slam echoed. Mouth still forming the end of the last word, Stiles turns to his father.

“What did I say?”

His Dad just shook his head and patted his son on the shoulder as he went to get a glass of water.

“Something happened to that girl. I don't know Lydia that well but I've heard a lot about her from you. That is not the girl you have been on and on about for the past ten years.”

Stiles nodded in agreement.

“Did she say anything?”

“Not about what happened before she got picked up out on the highway but she came here because her parents were fighting like a dog with a bone. She couldn't take it and started freaking out. Mr Martin said she was demanding to be brought here.”

Stiles stared up the stairs where she had just disappeared. His Dad didn't know any of it. He didn't know about Jackson being alive, or the werewolves. Nothing.

“She trusts you Stiles,” his Dad said. “Talk to her. See if you can get her to open up.”

“Dad I'm not going to break her trust just so you-”

“I'm not asking you to,” his Dad said, like Stiles was the biggest ass on the planet. “Just... she needs to talk. Besides, I know how good you are at keeping secrets.”

The barb stung. Stiles wanted to shout out that it wasn't his fault. He wanted to tell his Dad about it, about everything but where do you start. _My best friend is a werewolf and so is Lydia's boyfriend, who isn't really dead, oh and I'm sleeping with another one._ He couldn't even imagine talking about what was the real story with his aunt and how he'd actually been shot. The story where his mother came back to him, if only for a few minutes.

Things were better between them, better than Stiles might have expected but only because his Dad had been reminded too many times of how close his son was to being taken from him.

“I'll go talk to her,” Stiles settled on instead.

Lydia wasn't in the spare room, though her things were already laid out on the bed. Her clothes were arranged in fully planned out outfits for the next few days. She'd even got one prettier outfit in case a night on the tiles was called for. 

When he went into his room he wasn't surprised to find her waiting, sitting with her back against the bed and her legs pulled up against her. Her eyes were staring out blankly. He dropped down on the floor beside her, his position a mass of sprawling limbs.

They sat like that for sometime. As much as it pained Stiles to be quiet for that long he felt that it should be Lydia to talk first.

“I don't like it when my parents argue,” she said at last. “Never did. Me and my sister used to pretend that it wasn't happening. We'd go upstairs and put on music really loud or go to the mall or just get out of the house. To be honest when they told us they were getting a divorce I think I was kinda glad. Mostly I was angry though. I couldn't understand why they loved fighting more than they loved me. I get it now.”

She shifted, stretching one of her legs out and leaning her head back against his mattress.

“You don't have to say anything Lydia but if you want to I promise not a word will leave this room.”

She didn't look at him as she rolled her head to the right and rested it on his shoulder. Coconut.

“You know, you are the only person who could say that and make me believe it's true.”

She sat quietly for another minute. Stiles was convinced that she wasn't going to say anything, but he was happy to take in her smell. It was delicate, warm and coconut. When she finally spoke it was so soft that he thought he'd imagined it at first.

“It was fine at first. With Jackson. We had to slum it in sleazy motels and I hot wired a crappy car they wouldn't bother to track. I even stole the plates from another car and switched them. We started to run out of money, so we'd do odd jobs here and there, I even ran a couple of scams to get us through the tougher times. It was hard but it was okay, because we were together. When the full moon came around Jackson would take himself up off into the hills and I'd pick him up the next day and it worked. We worked.”

Her voice was shaking. Her eyes were wet with tears. Stiles touched her shoulder and she flinched slightly, closing her eyes shut, making drips stream her face.

“I don't know what changed. One day Jackson was thanking me for going through this with him, for not leaving him to be alone while he tried to work out what it meant to be what he was. The next day... It started with a few snide comments. He started to go missing every night even when there wasn't a full moon, then he'd be away half the day as well, being rude, more rude than usual, to the people we managed to get jobs off of. He started to talk like it was my fault we were out here, living in hovels and squatting in buildings. I'd point out it was for him and he'd start crying that he knew, but soon he just got more angry and then-”

She hadn't blinked in over a minute. Her face was sodden.

“He hit me. It was an accident at first, he was gesticulating and I was standing too close. Then it wasn't. I told him I wasn't going to be some Jerry Springer girl, taking it without a fight and he hit me again. And again. And again until I didn't get up any more. He didn't even apologise that time. So I waited until he was sleeping and I took the car keys and the money we had left and I drove away. I just left him there, and drove away.”

This time she didn't flinch when Stiles took her into his arms and pulled her head close to his chest. Her body was shaking with sobs.

“I left him. I know it was the right thing, that I had to leave him before he went completely nuts and killed me but I just left him there all alone without even a note. I drove all night not even knowing what direction I was going in. I drove until I ran out of money for gas and then I stole some more and when even that ran out I started walking. I didn't even know I was home until I saw your Dad at the police station. Don't know why I didn't just do that straight away, go to a police station. Stupid Lydia. What were you thinking?”

Stiles held her tighter. He buried his face in her hair, taking in the coconut. She pulled away from him. Her face was beautiful even with puffy eyes and blotchy skin. How had Derek Hale ever made him forget how much he was in love with this girl?

He wasn't surprised this time when she leaned up and kissed him. It wasn't like last time. There was no desperation, no need. It was soft and careful, neither of them taking more than the other was willing to give. Her tongue found his, gently caressing it until he closed his mouth and pulled back.

His head was a mess. He was kissing Lydia, but he could still feel Derek on him. He tried to kiss Lydia and just Lydia but Derek was still there, brooding at him from the corners of his mind.

“You're upset. I shouldn't take advantage.” It was part of the truth.

Lydia stroked the edge of his chin, scratching it with the backs of her finger nails. It was a gesture he did all the time.

“You're not. Please. I need this. I need someone to adore me again. I need someone to hold me and to know that I'm safe. That no one is going to hit me or start yelling at each other or kick the door in saying they've finally caught up with the kids who have been going on a crime spree all through Oregon. Please Stiles, just let me kiss you. I need to kiss you right now.”

She leant in and kissed him again. It wasn't as long and lingering as the first but it was all Lydia this time. Derek had never kissed him like that. Like he was being welcomed home after a long day.

“Okay,” Stiles whispered.

She wasn't the only one who needed this. As Stiles gripped her head, fingers laced through strawberry blonde curls, he knew what this feeling was. It was being safe. She wasn't going to start kissing him until he was completely at her mercy, slam him against the nearest vertical surface and start grinding him. If he pulled away she'd stop, not grab him and claim possession over his body. They were in this together, two people in a languid union of closeness.

Lydia was the one to pull away, settling into the nape of Stiles neck and for the second time Stiles held her close until she was sleeping. 


	9. Now or Never

            When Stiles woke up in the early hours of the next morning he couldn't feel his arm. His face felt crusty and he realised he'd drooled in his sleep, all over Lydia's hair. She was fast asleep, not stiring even as he tried to extricate himself from her. Not surprising, considering she'd not had a decent night’s sleep in months. As he went to stand up Stiles realised that someone, his Dad, had thrown a blanket over the two of them. Stiles lifted Lydia up and placed her on the bed. His strength surprised him at times like this, but looking at her curled up around herself on the bed he realised how tiny she was. He brushed her curls out of her face and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

            He made for the door to go take her place in the spare room when he heard her whimper in her sleep. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she was twitching like a dog. Stiles hushed her, taking her hand and she stilled, though her face was still troubled.

            Chewing on his lip for a few moments, he reached his decision and clambered into bed beside her. She'd fallen asleep on him once already, so this wasn't weird and stalkerish, right?

            He felt the heat of her in his arms. In the early days he'd thought about what it would feel like to do this with Derek. His muscles would be hard instead of Lydia's soft flesh, it would be like sleeping next to a granite slab. Lydia fit so snuggly into his embrace, the top of her head up against his chin. Derek would probably just swamp the entire bed and Stiles would wake up the next morning on the floor.

            'Stop thinking about Derek, Stiles. You ended it, remember. Think about the gorgeous red head who's in your bed right now. The one you've loved since you were seven years old.'

            He nuzzled into her hair once more, trying to wrap himself in that smell and take away the memory of Derek’s mouth all over his body. God, he hadn't even showered! Just as well that she wasn't a werewolf. She'd have smelt alpha all over him. It was all in his head but he thought he could still feel Derek's spit on his stomach, plastering his hair to his skin.

            He couldn't stand it anymore. He wrenched himself away and went to take a shower. When he came back Lydia was gone from his bed.

           

*****

            When Stiles went down from breakfast the next morning Lydia was already sat at the table having toast with his Dad. She looked immaculate again, with no sign of drool in her hair. Her face cracked into a genuine smile, the first he'd seen on her since she'd come back.

            He nearly tripped on the bags in the hallway as he made his way in.

            “You're going?” Stiles wasn't sure if it was sadness or relief in his voice. He'd lain awake for an hour last night trying to untangle the knot that was his ridiculous love life.

            She nodded as she carefully scraped butter onto a new slice of toast. It was like she was creating a great work of art on a golden brown canvas. Her plate was already piled high with food, more than he'd thought calorie-control-since-the-age-of-twelve Lydia would usually have. Like she was stocking up on it.

            “My Mom is coming pick me up,” she said. “I called her this morning and said that she and Dad were not allowed to fight in the house again but I wasn't going to let their negativity chase me away from my home.”

            She bit into the toast with feeling. There was the Lydia he'd fallen for. He sat down and pulled the cereal towards himself. His Dad caught his eye and they managed to have an entire conversation using only their facial expressions, the gist of which was:

_Did you get her to talk?_

_Yes, and it's none of your business so but out._

_I saw the two of you._

_Again, none of your business._

_You're an idiot._

_No you are._

            When they'd finished they saw Lydia was paused halfway through a mouthful. Slowly she finished chewing.

            _You're both idiots,_ her expression said.

            Stiles' Dad made small talk for a while about high-school when then doorbell rang. Lydia looked towards the sound but made no move, so Stiles got up instead. He was grateful he'd been the one to go. He could hear her parents bickering from the hallway.

            They looked shocked when he opened the door.

            “Stiles, isn't it?” said her Mom. He'd met the former-Mrs-Martin before, after Peter had attacked Jackson at the DVD rental store.

            “Yeah.” His eyes flicked between them.

           “This is the boy our daughter chooses over us,” said Mr Martin. His eyes were appraising Stiles like a prize cow, obviously not liking what he saw.       

            “She didn't choose anyone,” said Mrs Martin. “You just couldn't stop yourself from having a pop at her every chance you got when our daughter is obviously disturbed.”

            “So what,” said Mr Martin, rounding on his ex-wife. “We should just zombify her with prescription medication so she's too strung out to feel anything?”

            “At least I'm trying to help her.”

            “No you are not!” Stiles hissed. He pushed them both off the porch and stepped outside. “Can you two see yourselves right now? Do you know why she wants to stay here? Because it makes her feel safe. She's terrified. She's spent the last five months on the road, living day to day and she just wants to sleep somewhere where she can't hear yelling through the walls and where she knows where her next meal is going to come from.”

            The two of them looked at Stiles dumb founded.

            “She... she talked to you about what happened? We asked and we asked but she... she wouldn't say anything.”

            “Oh you asked, did you? Did you ever bother listening?”

            Stiles wasn't even sure what that was supposed to mean but it had the desired effect. Lydia's mother looked appalled at herself, her father looked mad.

            “How dare you talk to me like that! You tell me right now what...”

            “Oh my God, can you even hear yourself right now,” said Mrs Martin. “She's here because we keep doing this! This isn't about us. This is about our daughter. Thank you Stiles. Me and my former husband might be a pair of utter asses but it appears you are not.”

           Mr Martin looked like he was about to start screaming when the door creaked open and his daughter strode out. She stood on her tip toes and kissed her parents on the cheek before striding over to their car and putting her bags in the trunk.

            She came back around and kissed Stiles very deliberately on the corner of the mouth; not quite on the check, not full on the lips.

            “We better be going,” she said stepping backwards, still looking him in the face. “Thank you Sheriff!” she called to the man at the door. He waved back.

            Stiles felt like his palms were on fire, they itched so badly. He was bouncing on his toes. The phrase _now or never_ ran through his head.

            They were nearly about to drive away when he ran forward and banged on the glass. Lydia wound down the window.

            “What is it? Something wrong?”

            “Okay, kind of a long shot but I uh... don't suppose you're free next Wednesday evening. That is if your parents don't mind. Maybe. Possibly?”

            She smiled, leaning forward on the open window edge.

            “Stiles. Are you finally, actually asking me out on a date?”

            Stiles put his hand on his hips, leaning backwards and put out his lower lip. His mouth shaped a few words that never made it out as he waved his hand in the air.

            “Maybe, possibly. Actually, no not at all. It was a stupid idea. You're parents probably don't want to let you out the house ever again,” he said laughing before he realised how inappropriate his joke was.

            “We don't mind,” said her Mom, leaning back.

            “We don't?” asked her Dad.

            “We don't!” her Mom informed him.

            “Still, you're all...” Stiles waved his hands emphatically. How could he finish that sentence without letting her parents know everything? “I shouldn't have said anything. Never mind, see you on Monday.”

            “Stiles,” Lydia said, grabbing his hand as it gesticulated near her. “I'd love to. Talk to you on Monday.”

            She smiled brightly, sat back in her seat and hit the button to close the electric windows. She was smiling and waving as they drove away. He followed the car as it drove down the street.

            Which was how he noticed Angela leaning against her car, watching him. His smile faded instantly. She was dressed all in black again. Did the woman not know what colour was or did she perpetually have a funeral to go to?

            He looked to where his Dad was leaning against the door jamb. Stiles could tell the exact moment when his Dad saw her striding purposefully towards them. Mom always took her time. It was another small difference between them Stiles forced himself to notice, remembering who she really was, and more importantly, who she wasn’t.

            “What do you want?” Stiles tried his best to sound unwelcoming.

            “And a pleasure to see you too, my nephew,” she said. Leaning in she dropped her voice so only he could hear. “Well played with the parents, Little Red, though I dare say your little pet wolf might have a word or two about next Wednesday.”

            “Yeah well it's none of his business anymore,” Stiles hissed at her, conscious of the fact that his Dad was watching them both. “And none of yours.”

            “She's looking a lot better than when we first picked her up.”

            “That was you?” Stiles rounded on her.

            “Yes. Beaten. Bruised. Bloodied. She was too far gone to recognise me. Recognised me as your Mom, that is. That kid, what was his name, Jackson. He was knocking her about wasn't he?”

            Stiles looked at her. Her face was unfeeling.

            “Makes sense,” she said. “No pack. He'd become an omega. They start to lose a grip of themselves, one more reason for wolves to stay in packs. They start giving in to the animal. I'm surprised Derek let him go.”

            He hadn't. Jackson and Lydia had just left in the middle of the night without a word or a warning.

            “Don't tell anyone,” Stiles asked. “She doesn't want them to know and I appreciate it if you'd stay out of my love life. Not that what I want ever seems to make a blind bit of difference to you.”

            She raised her eyebrows at him then dropped into the _at ease_ position with her feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind her back as Stiles Dad stepped up.

            “I didn't come to talk to you Stiles. Sheriff Stilinski. I regret that we haven't been properly introduced yet. I am...”

            “I know who you are,” said the Sheriff, eyeing the hand Angela had proffered with suspicion. “Agent Angela Weiss, FBI. Apparently you've got quite a reputation but no one at the bureau would tell me what it was. Your entire life is classified, apparently.”

            Stiles looked at his Dad's expression. He knew him well enough to know his cop face. He was treating his aunt like a suspect, a person of interest to be interrogated and broken down.

            “I'm very good at my job and it's my job that brings me here but I don't think I can do my job until we address other matters. Namely my sister.”

            Stiles Dad was running his gaze all over Angela, appraising every inch of her. Except for her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes.

            “Jane didn't want you to have anything to do with my son's life,” he said, “to the point where she wouldn't give my son the information that might have potentially saved her life. Considering you got him shot then made him lie about your very existence, I can see why.”

            She nodded but even that didn't seem to break her hard exterior. It was a fair comment.

            “I can't tell you why Jane kept me out of her... your lives,” she said. “I don't know the whole story. We don't know why she left, I'm sure you've come up with a hundred versions of an abusive childhood or whatever but I swear to you they aren't true. It was a good life and she loved it. There's not a day I won't regret that I couldn't find her again, if only so I could ask her why. Now I'll never know.”

            There was just enough truth there for Angela to sell her story. It was one of the few times that Stiles had heard even a tremor of real emotion in her voice. Just a tremor, mind.

            “Sheriff Stilinski. I've only known Stiles for a short while but he is my nephew and I do love him as much as I do Connor's kids.”

            “Connor?” Stiles said stepping forward.

            “My brother, your uncle. Two and a half kids; one boy, one girl, another in the oven.”

            “I have an uncle.” Stiles slumped against his Jeep.

            “Two actually. Connor and Kieran. Connor is one of the nicest people you will ever meet. Kieran... is not.”

            It was amazing how much expression Angela could put into two words without using any intonation. His family. They had names. More than that. Children, marriages, relationships, lives and he didn't know any of it.

            He looked up at his father. It had only ever been the three of them; Mom, Dad and Stiles. Now it was just 'Dad and Stiles'. Was it wrong to want to know this whole wide family that was being offered to him? What if they were all like Angela? Hard and closed off. No. He refused to believe that a person as wonderful as his mother could have come from a house of people that cold.

            His Dad stepped down from the porch and faced Angela. He studied her face, really looked at it. Stiles could see the pain it was causing him. He looked over to his son.

            “Agent W... Angela. Would you like to join us for dinner tonight.”

            Angela smiled. A happy one, not her usual smirk. Then it faded and she stood back into attention.

            “Normally I would jump at the chance to know the man my sister loved so much, but as I said, I'm here for a reason Sheriff.” She pulled out a notepad from her inner jacket pocket. “My partner was investigating in the woods when he found something.”

            The Sheriff rubbed his hand over his face.

            “Please tell me you're not about to say there's been another animal attack.”

            “I could, but my mother taught me to only ever lie when I have something to gain. My partner called it in to your department but I was close by so I thought I'd run over here and ruin your weekend in person.”

            “For _fuck's_ sake!” The Sheriff swore violently, before realising his son was there and trying to apologise.

            “Didn't hear it,” Stiles said.

            Angela looked at him knowingly. “You're Mom?”

            “My Mom.”

            “I wondered why everything was 'freaking' amazing. You're nearly seventeen, you should be swearing like a marine by now. Fuck knows I did. Janey fucking _hated_ it.”

            It was one of his Mom's big rules. No swearing, either for Stiles or his father. Of course when she'd been alive he'd broken it left right and centre. After she'd gone he'd trained himself to not even think in cuss words.

            “I'm going to get my things,” said Stiles Dad. He looked shaken. His dead wife's twin sister talking about his dead wife was a little too much this early in the day.

            “Poor man,” said Angela. “I should have come up with a better way of telling him.”

            “Really? Because I thought the whole pretending to be a ghost of the woman he loved was a spectacular way to introduce yourself.”

            Angela didn't respond, instead choosing to shake her head and walk back to her car. Stiles was torn. He hovered, then with a groan he trotted after Angela.

            “So by animal attack we're reading rogue werewolf? Another pack or an omega?”   

            She shrugged as she unlocked her car.

            “Not my division. My partner and I are here for a very specific reason-”

            “Which is?” he asked hopefully.

            “None of your business.” She got into her car. It was black with tinted windows and leather seats. Yet more aversion to colour. She was worse than Derek. “We are here on a certain mission-”

            “A mission which requires me to get all my friends to go to an STI clinic?”

            “Jesus H Christ man!” she exclaimed. “Do you ever let anyone finish? How are you friends with so many werewolves yet none of them have ripped your throat out yet?”

            Stiles didn't know if she'd meant to send a bolt of ice through his chest with that comment, but she had. All he could remember was a half dead Derek threatening him into starting the Jeep. In retrospect that was probably the moment he'd felt the first thrums of attraction for Derek. Explained a lot about their relationship really, that Derek threatening him turned him on. She couldn't know about that though, could she?

            “Look. This happened on your patch,” she said, clueless to his private turmoil. “If you think it's an issue worthy of the council's interest then you just go ahead and sort it out. If I can, I'll help you out along the way but I can't let it interfere with my own work.”

            “I thought if I joined a Council it meant I'd get some back up,” he whined.

            “And you will... if the issue is bigger than one rogue werewolf on the prowl. Talk to your werewolf boyfriend.” There was that word again, more inappropriate than ever. “It's really his job to keep his territory clean. I'll see you at dinner tomorrow.”      

            “Dinner tomorrow, but we didn't reschedule. How do you know?”

            Angela raised an eyebrow at him as she turned. She knew because she was better at this than he was. He hated when she did that. Mainly because he couldn't work out _how_ the hell she did that!


	10. Apple Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela joins the Stilinski's for dinner. She brings pie.

            “Are you sure about this Dad,” asked Stiles.

            “About dinner or about the chicken?”

            “That's chicken?”

            Stiles looked at the greyish lumps of meat that were floating in a congealed cream sauce. There was a reason Stiles hadn't had a home cooked meal at home in a few years.

            Stiles tried to stab one of the lumps with a fork but the prongs skittered off the surface, as if it was made of rubber. He eventually managed to skewer one and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. He gagged. His dad checked his watch before upending the dish into the garbage.

            “Take out menus. If we order now, it should get here before she does.”

            He quickly put in an order with the Italian down the road and went back to setting the table.

            “You really care about making a good impression, don't you?”

            Stiles' Dad looked up at him as he straightened a set of cutlery.

            “Don't you?”

            “I already know Angela as much as I want to. She's a cold hearted uber professional.”

            “I got that much working with her yesterday. But she's your Mom's sister. I feel I should know her.” His Dad didn't sound particularly convinced. “Besides, she knows this whole huge family you have. You seemed kind of interested yesterday.”

            It was one area of Angela's knowledge that Stiles desperately wanted to know about. Luckily, while was tight lipped about anything Council based, she seemed fine talking about his family. He just always seemed to having something more important to yell at her about whenever they saw each other.

            “What are we going to do about desert?” Stiles asked.

          “Your aunt said she was bringing something homemade. I just hope it's a bit more successful than our attempt.”

 

*****

 

            It was. Considerably so. It was an apple pie that tasted just like the ones his Mom used to make.

            “Family recipe,” Angela said as she helped herself to the cream. “The trick is to soak the apples in cider for a few hours before you make the filling. Even if you screw up the rest, by the third bite you're too drunk to care.”

            His Dad laughed. It might have been the alcoholic pie that was doing it or it might have had more to do with the best part of a bottle of wine he'd drunk.

            “I'm guessing this is your Mom's family recipe,” said Stiles taking another huge bite.

            “'Tis the traditional Irish way,” she said affecting a very convincing accent. “Me ma used booze in everything.”

            Over the course of that evening he'd discovered that his maternal grandmother was Irish, born and raised, his Grandfather was German and both were currently stuck on some remote south pacific island with no way of getting back home for the next few months. Stiles assumed that was Council business, because his aunt was being her usual vague self on the subject. All in all, they sounded like a fascinating pair of people that Stiles was dying to know.

            “The stacks of books on Celtic myths and Irish drinking songs are making a lot more sense now,” his Dad said fondly remembering the woman he'd lost. Stiles never remembered his Mom being drunk, but he remembered her singing. She was always singing.

            “Ah yes. That would be another family tradition. Loud, proud and truly, truly awful singing. Whenever I go over to see England, Miranda says we're not allowed to sing within a mile of the house.”

            “Wait, Miranda is married to Connor, right?” asked Stiles.

            He'd had so many aunts, uncles, cousins and so on fired at him that he was struggling to keep them all straight. His mother had two brothers; Conner was older and Kieran was younger. It was also quickly established that you _did not ask about Kieran._

“That's the one.”

            His Dad yawned loudly.

            “God. Sorry. That was rude.”

            “Understandable,” said Angela. “Running around in the woods all night after a perp' is always fun. Especially when then perp' is of the furry variety.”

            She and Stiles shared a knowing glance.

            “Anyway,” she continued, “it's probably about time I was going anyway. I hope we can do this again sometime. It's been fun. I was kind of worried you might try and arrest me or something. I'd invite you round mine next time but the apartment we've rented is usually a complete dump. I wouldn't invite a family of rats over.”

            “You rented an apartment?” asked his Dad, switching to Sheriff mode. “How long are you planning on being in town?”

            “A while,” she said with a glance at Stiles. “It's going to be a long haul but let's not ruin a lovely evening by talking shop.”

            She stood up to help clear the dishes but his Dad waved her away and picked them up himself.

            “Sit down. You're the guest. I clear up.”        

            His Dad picked up the empty dishes and took them away into the kitchen. Stiles leaned in towards her.

            “What if _I_ want to talk shop?”

            “Well then, that's different.” She looked around to make sure his Dad couldn't hear anything. “What have you got so far?”

            “What have I got? What have you got?”

            “Stiles.” She sounded like his kindergarten teacher when she'd scolded him for upending the glitter for the hundredth time. “I told you. This is your job to sort out. Not mine.”

            “But you can at least give me a hand.”

            “And if you ask for 'a hand' I will give you one. You’re asking for the whole arm and most of the shoulder. If you ever want to learn how to do this job properly you have to start doing it on your own.”

            Stiles leaned back in his chair and jiggled his knee up and down in annoyance.

            “Could you at least give me a few pointers? I've tried looking ahead to work out what this thing is but all I end up with is these stupid headaches and nothing else I do works!”

            “For fuck's sake- This isn't like a book,” said Angela dryly. “If you read the ending first it will change how the story goes. We've been over this.”

            “So what am I supposed to do?”

            “You're not all powerful just because you've been given a cheat sheet into the future. Sometimes we still have to do things the old fashioned way. You were quite the amateur sleuth before I came along. Work with that.”

            “So I steal my Dad's private documents, break into buildings, nearly get killed half a dozen times and then wait around for another bunch of people to get killed so I can get a few more clues?”

            “Welcome to the wonderful world of Weiss Rat.”

            Stiles jabbed his hands towards her.

            “I don't get you. How can you just sit there and talk like that. People are dying! I know that you know more than you're telling me.”

            “Yes. Because I have been to college,” she stated. “Because I have lived for thirty years longer than you. I know a great many things that you don't because I learned them. I could tell you all the secrets of the universe but they won't make any sense unless you take the time to learn the ground work. You're too green. I tell you enough for you to work out where this thing is, you go racing in after it and get yourself killed. I only just found you and Janey might not have asked me herself to watch over you but I will be damned if I am going to let any harm come to you on my watch. Do I make myself clear?”

            Her argument was completely reasonable. That was what really made Stiles angry.

            “Perfectly,” he said.

            “Good. Let me know how you're getting on. Good things come to those who wait.”

            Angela bade farewell to his Dad with a promise to visit again soon. Angela might prove to actually be an okay aunt but she was fast showing herself up as a lousy mentor.


	11. Catch 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Stiles and Scott need to talk, but neither want to be the one to say anything.

            “Another set of attacks? Are you sure.” Scott looked more confused than usual.

           “Yup. My Dad was really freaked out by them. They weren't like the others. This guy was completely torn apart. Deaton had a look and said there wasn't enough left to tell what did it for sure. There was barely enough left to identify the body as human.”

            “Dude,” said Scott. A shiver ran down his whole body.

            “I know. They're sending it away for testing. See what comes back. What Deaton is sure of is that whatever did this definitely wasn't human. My Dad is starting to think there's some, I don't know, government conspiracy. A genetic experiment's gotten loose. The impromptu visit from dear old Aunt Angela isn't helping. She's stopping him from calling in the guys from state.”

            Scott shifted his rucksack like he did when he got nervous about asking something. They hadn't really talked about Angela since the day she'd shown up in school. Scott had known she was still in town but that was all Stiles ever let on. It was all Stiles knew, really.

            It had been like this since the graveyard. They'd gotten over the fact that he'd faked Allison's murder pretty quick. As soon as Scott realised that the alternative was murdering her for real, he was pretty cool with the idea of making her sick for a few days. But their relationship had changed. Stiles had his secrets. Sometimes it seemed there were so many in his head it would burst and all he wanted was for someone to just go 'hey, what's on your mind'  so he could just let them all fall out. Scott stopped asking, though, and not because he was being his usual clueless self. They'd never kept secrets from each other, not before Scott was bitten and not since. Now the air hung empty whenever Scott's eyes lingered on the bruise marks on Stiles hips left by Derek when they really got into it. He never mentioned all the times Stiles took himself off after practice or wasn't around for movie night. Scott wanted Stiles to talk to him, but wasn't going to ask. Stiles wanted to talk to him, but couldn't bring himself to start. Catch 22.

            This time though, Stiles was going to pretend that Scott had asked. Pretend everything was okay and carry on regardless.

            “She just... she's a freaking robot! Every time I talk to her it's like she's made of glass or ice. She's so cool and together. I've seen her get flustered once, once, when I accused her of abandoning my Mom and she yelled at me, then twenty seconds later she was back to business. I don't understand how that... thing can be my Mom's twin.

            “And she knows all of this stuff,” he continued, “about the whole super special magic power thing and she's not telling me any of it. She came over at the weekend for dinner, which was kinda nice. We talked about my grandparents and my uncles and cousins and all this whole huge family that I know nothing about. She made apple pie and it tasted exactly, _exactly_ , like Mom's. Said it was a family recipe. When I asked her about training and the Weiss Rat all she said was 'good things come to those who wait'. She's known me for a whole five minutes, she should know that's the one thing I suck at more than pretty much everything else in the whole world! Waiting!”

            He looked at Scott who was staring at him with a slack jaw.

            “Sorry,” said Stiles. “It's been on my mind.”

            “No kidding. You know you can talk to me.” Scott's eyes flicked to Stiles' chest. “About anything.”

            At the first lacrosse training session, Stiles had taken his shirt off to get changed forgetting he had a bruise across his back from where Derek had backed him into the banister with a little too much force a week before. There were scratches on his side from when they'd screwed on the floor of the woods that were still fading. Stiles had fobbed Scott off when he asked, but he could tell Scott didn't believe him. Perhaps he thought someone was beating him up or he was doing some very strange form of self-harm, but Stiles' doubted it. If Scott thought he was hurting himself on purpose there was no way he'd keep it to himself. Scott just knew there was something wrong with his best friend, and that his best friend didn't want to talk to him about it.

            Stiles had never minded the physical side of his relationship with Derek. Hell, it was all they had in the end, and he gave as good as he got when it came to fingernail scratches and bruises from behind slammed into things. The only difference was that that Derek's would heal within seconds of appearing while Stiles blossomed into a great lattice of claw marks and purpling bites that he had to try and hide from the world. Derek didn't have that problem did he, no siree.

            And now Derek was gone and Stiles could think about other things.

            “Hi guys,” came Allison's bright voice as she walked down and kissed Scott. She gave Stiles a kiss on the cheek as well. That was something she did now. He'd been the one to save her life with his quick thinking. She wanted him to know she understood that.

            “Hey now,” Lydia said as she pulled him down into a much more lingering kiss on the cheek. “That's my job.”

            She wiped away the gloss from his cheek and touched a finger to his lips as if she was shushing him. He was suddenly struck with the urge to suck it into his mouth. No. That's what he would do with Derek and he wasn't with Derek anymore and he certainly wasn't thinking about Derek right now.

            Lydia had taken his arm, positioning herself on the opposite side to where Scott stood. She'd gotten better but she was still noticeably uncomfortable around anyone with a 'furry little problem'.

            “Still on for Wednesday?” she asked. Her eyes were the only thing to betray her. Her face was as pristine and measured as it had ever been, knowing with absolute certainty Stiles was not about to stand her up, but her eyes showed her fear that he might have changed his mind.

            “'Course.” Stiles was beginning to feel a little drunk.

            “Wednesday?” asked Scott? “What's happening on Wednesday? Are we doing something?”

            Allison kicked him and glared. Of course Lydia had told her. She'd probably text her the news before she'd got home.

            _Hey Allison. The idiot finally asked me out. Said yes. How should I break his heart into the most pieces? Love L xxx._

            Shut up stupid brain, he thought. She'd said yes because she wanted to go out with him. Stop expecting the worst.

            “We aren't doing anything,” Lydia said pointedly at Scott. She turned to Stiles. “We are. Stiles and I are going on a date.”

            Stiles couldn't help but let his face break into the biggest grin he'd ever worn. The only thing that topped this feeling right now was the look on Scott's face.

            “You. And Stiles? Did you use a magic potion on her or something?”

            “Yes Scott,” he said flatly, “I put a magic potion in her drink to make her fall madly in love with me.”

            Scott took a minute.

            “...you are kidding right?”

            “Yes I am kidding! God am I that pathetic?”       

            Scott shrugged non-committally. Lydia let out an exasperated gasp and grabbed Allison away from her own boyfriend.

            “Explain Stilinski,” she said marching off with her friend. “We have outfits to plan.”

            Scott was caught between shock, outrage, happiness and incredulity and so had settled on a non-plussed expression. Time to throw the wolf a bone.

            “She spent last night round my house,” said Stiles. “Not like that! Though she did fall asleep in my room... on the floor. It was really uncomfortable.”

_Don't think of the tongue trails, the smell of him on you, the feeling you couldn't shift, the longing you felt even as you washed him off of you._

            “What the hell happened to her?” asked Scott. “Something's done a serious number on her.”

            “Gee. Thanks. I guess a girl would have to be seriously damaged to want to go out with me.”

            Lord knows Derek had been seriously damaged and he'd not even wanted to go out. Their relationship was more about the staying in.

            “That's not what I meant,” said Scott. “Stop twisting my words, you know what I'm trying to say.”

            Stiles scratched his chin.

            “I know. She's pretty messed up. She puts on a brave face, but... Jackson did a number on her. She's terrified, said I made her feel safe, that she knew I'd always care about her but I think it's partly because I'm the only other 'normal' one of us left, who's not a werewolf or a hunter or anything. At least I was before Angela showed up. Maybe I really do make her feel safe and she needs someone to protect her. I can take that.”

            Scott put a bromantic arm around his shoulder.

            “Awesome dude. We can go on double dates, ones that are actually fun because the two of you won't be fighting all the time.”

            “We might fight all the time. A lot of the time probably, seeing as how I got her to dance with me at the winter formal by yelling at her and told her how much I cared another time by also yelling at her. There may be quite a lot of yelling involved.”

            “Yelling I can stand. It's the snide back biting that made me want to kill Jackson.”

            Stiles noticed they were outside guidance office, where the 'free session' label was showing. He could feel the ghost of the white coat, still hanging in his closet, on his shoulders.

            “Um... Mind if I meet up with you at Calc? I want to have a word with Morelle.”

            Scott squinted at him, trying to read something on Stiles' face that wasn't there.

            “Why? Something I should know about?”

            “Yeah. The murder. She's a Sentinel remember?”

            “Oh right. Yeah. Secret society stuff.”

            Scott was trying his best not to be put out but it couldn't be helped. They were best friends, for now and for always, but there were some places they couldn't go with each other. Stiles couldn't go out with the pack on a full moon, and Scott couldn't sit in on important Council meetings.

            Ms Morelle was sat at her desk. She took one look at him and reached for her drawer, pulling out a folder.

            “I think I know why you're here. This is what we know.”

            “Wow! That was fast,” he said picking it up and flicking through. There wasn't much there. A few crime scene photos that his Dad had probably shown to Deaton to get his two cents on. Stiles held it up and grimaced. That mess had once been a person. They'd only known that because they'd found a skull. Thirty feet away. He put it down on the table. His stomach was churning.

            “Manuel phoned me as soon as he and Angela found out.”

            “Manuel?”

            “Manuel Nesawaakwaad. Angela's FBI partner. He's on the Council as well.”

            “Nesa- Is that even a word?”

            “Nesawaakwaad,” came a voice from behind them. “It's Native American. Anishinaabe to be precise.”

            Stiles turned to see the man in question standing in the doorway. He was wearing a black suit with a black shirt and a black tie and black shoes. Perhaps it was a revolt against the long white coats that they wore most of the time. He smiled at Stiles and stepped across the room to shake his hand.

            “Mr Stilinski right?”

            “Stiles.”

            “Sweet. Nice to finally meet the famous long lost son of the family Weiss. How's it treatin' ya, the wondrous gift of foresight?”

            Manuel was the only member of the Council that Stiles had ever so much as talked to, other than Angela. He'd been beginning to think that they were all like her. Cut off, cold and distant. Manuel seemed much more open and friendly.

            “It's alright,” said Stiles. “Still trying to, you know, remember to open the door rather than just seeing the door being opened and thinking I've done it.”

            Manuel laughed. “And answering the phone before it rings? That'll happen for a while yet. The headaches are a bitch. I still get those from time to time when I'm not paying attention. You learned to focus your sight yet?” Stiles shook his head. The man clicked his tongue knowingly. “Let me guess. Dear old Aunt Angela is keeping well and truly schtum.”

            “Is he always like that?”

            “You mean RoboWeiss?” said Manuel. “On the job, yes. If it's council stuff she is all about the work but when she lets her hair down it is a sight to behold.”

            Stiles tried very hard not to imagine her letting her hair down. The only times she'd done that she was either pretending to be possessed by the spirit of his mother, or actually was possessed by the spirit of his mother.

            “RoboWeiss?”

            “It's what we all call her because she does that blank face thing, you know. Talks in one flat tone with the odd raised eyebrow and scathing comment to let you know how foolish you are.” Manuel's impersonation of his aunt was a little terrifying, but it made Stiles laugh. “That's not a thing, don't worry. The rest of us are normal. Well... actually we're all freaks but we're each a different brand of our own wonderous freakery.

            “Anyway,” he said, sitting on the edge of the table, “the thing with the Sight is you have to remember you're Seeing. Not seeing. You want to try and step back and look at the whole picture at once, every possible outcome, without focusing on the detail of any one. Stuff changes too much. You stare at one part too close and it'll just make you queasy. That any help to you?”

            Stiles relaxed his mind, letting it wander out over the office. He could see the way that the afternoon would go, the points at which it would branch off into different places as a student decided to go to their session or to ditch, to bring up their real trouble or just coast through on lies. It wasn't very interesting, but he could See what he wanted to See.

            “Yeah. Actually... I think it is.”

            This man he'd only met in passing once before had just taught him more about his new found power than his own aunt had in nearly four months.

            “Don't worry man, we all do it at first.”

            Manuel picked up the folder that Stiles had been going through.

            “Yeugh. Never seen that before. You find anything?” he asked Morelle.

            “Waiting on the coroner's report,” she said sitting down on her chair, looking thoroughly annoyed at the two men cluttering up her office. “Neither me or Alan have a clue at the moment. It looks like werewolf claw marks on the bits that were together enough to have claw marks, and hair the definitely looked lupine but I've never seen any wolf do that to someone, were' or otherwise.”

            “They know who the victim was yet?” asked Stiles.

            “Working on it. He was male and the guy had decent hiking boots on. Probably some poor bastard who was in the wrong place and the wrong time.”

            Manuel looked down, spreading out the sparse information over the table, like the Sheriff did when he worked a case. Stiles came up beside him and looked it over. There were just a few pictures and the incident report (how they'd got that, Stiles had no idea) but it was a start.

            “You are much more help than my aunt,” said Stiles. “She kept going on about how it wasn't her job. I should investigate this one because it was on my turf and I'd never learn if she helped me out all the time.”

            “Technically all true but people are dying and if I have to talk to one more fucking faery I will lose my goddamn mind!” Manuel's voice was little more than a hoarse rasp at the end.

            “Faeries?”

            “Yeah. It's why me and the RoboWeiss are here. There's a cabal of them up in the hills we've got some business with. Basically admin, keeping tabs on them, renegotiating terms of various treaties. Currently my hatred for them burns with the fire of a thousand suns. Fun, fun, fun!”

            “Herd,” said Morelle.

            “Wha'?” said Manuel.

            “The collective term. It's a herd of faeries, not a cabal.”

            “That makes them sound like sheep!” said Manuel. “A catastrophe of faeries would be more apt.”

            “They really that bad?” asked Stiles.

            Manuel's expression answered for him. They were worse. Stiles remembered the night Angela had given him his mother's knife, the weapon he'd pretended to kill Allison with. She'd said something about one side being used on fae. From the sounds of it she wasn't awfully fond of them either.

            “Do you know what faeries like to do Stiles?” said Manel. “They like to trick people. Like pretending that they'll help the girl of your dreams fall in love with you, say that they can give you her heart and then they will literally give you her heart on a silver platter. Still beating if they can. They lure people into their revels and make them dance until they die from exhaustion and dehydration. Mortal lives are a nothing to them. It's like a kid pulling the wings off of a fly.”

            Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine. There was a 'herd' or whatever of these living in his town? Sweet Jesus.

            “Don't look so worried,” Manuel said pushing him lightly on the arm. “They've not done it for a long time, not since we got involved and threatened to wipe them out unless they live by the rules. We scratch their back every so often and they don't go on killing sprees because it was a slow Wednesday. Don't get me wrong they're still a bunch of bastards and will pull apart any poor unfortunate soul who happens to wander into their patch, but at least they're not stealing children and replacing them with demons anymore.”

            “There's a lot more to this Council stuff then I thought.”

            “There always is,” Manuel said sadly. “And most of it is mind numbingly boring. Then occasionally you get a murder falling into your lap. Brief periods of manic intensity, interspersed with long stretches of waiting for something to happen.”

            “Sounds like my life already,” said Stiles.


	12. Lydia Martin: Driving Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles takes Lydia on a date unlike the one he's always imagined.

            “I am a carting goddess!” Lydia said. She held the tiny trophy above her head like it was a holy chalice.

            “Only because I let you win,” said Stiles.

            “Yeah right Captain Slow. How was it at the back with the Brian's Mom?”

            Stiles had been planning his first date with Lydia Martin for years. He was supposed to take her to the fanciest restaurant in town but that had gone out the window with the repair bill on his Jeep. Instead he'd had to make do with the cheap, but really good, pizza place funded in part by the twenty dollars his Dad had shoved into his hand on the way out the door. Then he was supposed to rig up a projector so that they could have their own private drive in of 'The Notebook' but the projector had refused to work so they'd just gone for a walk. That's when Lydia had noticed the go-karting place and dragged him in. She was good at driving. She liked driving. She was never allowed to do the driving. There was just the two of them there and Brian's twelfth birthday party with a dozen screaming kids and tired parents.

            It had been amazing. Lydia had shown no mercy. She'd thrown that little cart round the track like she was a NASCAR driver, cutting up him and the kids alike. This was not a Lydia who was about to hold back her natural talent just to make him, or a twelve year old boy, feel better. The attendant even suggested that she take it up professionally but then he'd been flirting with Stiles' date outrageously all night.

            It hadn't been the first date that Stiles had planned, but it had been pretty freaking amazing so far. In fact, he didn't think that there had been a better first date in the history of Beacon Hills. Certainly better than anything he'd had with Derek, none of which even remotely resembled a date.

             Damn. He’d been doing so well.

            “I think I'm going to put this on my wall,” said Lydia admiring the tiny trophy. “I'll put the Field's Medal next to it one day.”

            Stiles laughed and tried to grab it off her but she dived out the way and taunted him with it. He jumped up after it but tripped, grabbing at the first thing that came to hand to break his fall. This happened to by Lydia and he ended up dragging her onto the floor with him. Both of them were in hysterics as they tried to untangle the mass of limbs.

            Her face was only a few inches away. The laughing stopped slowly, still bubbling up in short bursts as she lowered her face towards him and gave him a long kiss on the lips. Stiles had a vivid flashback of being pinned to the forest floor, Derek above him kissing him much rougher than Lydia was now. He banished the thought from his mind. The skin brushing him now was smooth, not rough with stubble. Lydia pulled back smiling then jumped to her feet and waved the trophy at him before running off.

            When he caught up with her she was leaning against a lamp post. The light of the street light radiated in a circle around her. It made her slightly wild hair shine like a halo around her. He didn't mean to, but the Web came weakly into his vision. There was an aura of black darkness hanging around her still, but warm white and pink ribbons were breaking through, stretching towards him.

            Walking up he held his hands forward as if to put them on her waist, but she slipped sideways and hid behind the post before skipping away, her hand loosely taking his.

            They walked like that for some time, aimlessly wandering. The car was back in the lot, but they'd been too high on the race adrenaline to sit in a car that didn’t feel like it was going a hundred miles an hour and drive home.

            “So what was supposed to be the plan now?” Lydia asked. Her fingers were snaking through his fingers, feeling each knuckle and smooth bit of skin.

            “Well, during the movie I was going to give you my coat so you didn't get cold, then I was going to walk you back to your house, give you a very chivalrous kiss on the hand and forget to take the coat back so that you'd have to talk to me again to return it if nothing else.”

            She whipped her hand from his and held it out in front of her. Stiles took off his imaginary top hat, gently held her hand and bowed his most flourished bow as he kissed her once on the hand. He stood again, replacing the imaginary top hat as he went. Consistency was an important part of mime.

            “Not going to offer me your coat though?” she asked.

            “Are you kidding! It's freezing and besides, your coat is thicker than mine.”

            She snuggled down into it, pulling it in tighter around her.

            “Mhmm. Cozy.”

            He pushed her sideways so she staggered a few steps. She shoved him so hard he fell off the pavement. Their hands found each other’s, fingers winding together.

            “You really are different from the other boys Stiles, you know that.”

            “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

            “Good. In this case anyway. Most guys first date plans involve an attempt at at least second base. Yours are to make sure I get home safe and then my good night kiss is on the hand. Frankly, I'd feel kind of cheated.”

            She yanked him towards her and threw her arm around his neck to pull him in as she kissed him. She left herself dangling there for a moment when she was done.

            “See. That's much better. I could never imagine Jackson doing-”

            She pulled away from him and fell into step beside Stiles, realising what she'd just said. They walked to the end of the block before she said anything.

            “Sorry,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his.

            “It's alright. You can talk about him, if you need to. If you don't want to though, don't. It's just… I'm here if you need someone.”

            She looked up at him as she leant on his shoulder.

            “I know. You always were. Why do you think I went to see you when... after the lacrosse game? Why do you think it's your door I always come to when I can't take it at home anymore? I trust you Stiles. I trust you completely, because I know you'd never do anything to hurt me. You'd never lie to me.”

            Stiles felt something twist inside him. He looked out sideways and for a moment he thought he see the shadow of Derek hiding in the dark. Maybe it was. It would just be like Derek to tail him on his first date with Lydia. More likely it was just his guilty conscience. Either way, he couldn't let Derek control him. That was why he'd left.

            “Lydia. I have to tell you something.”

            “What?” She'd sensed the tone of his voice, her grip had tightened on his arm. Her blue eyes were searching his, trying to see what he was hiding. There was fear there. She didn't try to hide it, not from him.

            “It's nothing bad, don't worry. Just while you were gone I kind of... hooked up with someone.”

            “Hooked up with?” she said with disbelief that was quickly replaced with curiosity. “Not dated?”

            “Most definitely just hooking up. This is actually the first date I have ever actually been on and if that doesn't make you run for the hills from the sheer lameness of it, I don't know what will.”

            She gripped his arm tighter this time, though now her eyes were burning with conspiracy.

            “You know I have to know who it was now, right? Tell me. Oh my god Stiles, I can't believe you had, what, a fuck buddy?”

            There was something about hearing Lydia say 'fuck buddy' that made Stiles shudder. Possibly because it was the best term for him and Derek that he'd heard yet.

            “What's so unbelievable about that? I'm kind of a big deal now you know.”

            Lydia pulled on his arm.

            “You know what I mean! You chased after me for ten years before making a move. The idea of you going out with anyone is kinda weird.”

          “Gee. Thanks Lydia. You know I might just take back this whole date. It's been cancelled, erased from history.”

            She laughed and shook his arm again.

            “Just tell me who it was.” She dropped his arm sharply. “I'm assuming it was a 'was' right. You're not two timing me are you?”

            “Yes. It is a ‘was’. We... I ended it a few days ago.”

            Stiles picked up her hand and threaded it back through the crook of his arm.

            “Because I showed up? Awesome.”

            “Partly. Mainly because it stopped being fun anymore. I wanted more. They couldn't give me that.”

            Even talking in half-truths and holding back it was good to get this all off his chest. He wanted to tell her everything, from the first time in the locker room to the night of the big fight to a few nights ago when he'd ended it. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. Not with Lydia. Not now.

            “Ooo, the mystery deepens,” she said oblivious to his pain. “Hmm... so you won't tell me who it was. That must mean either your ashamed of who it was _or_ it was someone who shouldn't be sleeping with you. Hmm... oh my god was it Erica?”

            “What!” That conclusion shocked him a bit. “Erica? God no. Boyd would snap me like a twig.”

            “Which is why you can't tell me! She always had a thing for you and she's kind of all sexified these days. I could just bet that she'd have two guys on the go at once. But no, hmm was it... Allison?”

            “Yes. Because I am that much a douche bag. Besides as cool as me and Allison are now I did give her a reason to wear scarves for the rest of her life. Pretending to kill someone is hardly the best seduction tactic.”

            “Right up there with telling people to stop acting stupid to make their boyfriend's like them,” she teased. “Okay. So not Erica or Allison. Oh my god!” Her fingernails dug into his arm through his coat. “Is it a teacher? Mrs Collins from Math? No Ms Morelle! She's one of those Sentinel dealies that you're the king of now or whatever. Is it her? Wait. Is it Coach Finnstock?”

            She was looking at him with her hands on her hips, grinning victoriously.

            “Oh my God, are you going to go on all night?” he asked to the heavens. “It's not a teacher so shut up. And I'm not the king of the Sentinels. It's more like they're the hall monitors and we're the teachers. They keep an eye out but if something major happens they come to us.”

            “I still can't believe your Mom was part of some secret club. Do they secretly run the word? Do you think I could get one of them to give me a reference for college?”

            Stiles laughed.

            “I have no idea. I've only ever met two others. My aunt and Manuel, neither of which look like they were secretly running the country. I'll see what I can do for you.”

            “Excellent. I knew you'd be a good man to know. So what _do_ you do then?”

            “Not really sure. I'm supposed to watch over the supernatural beasts out there. The werewolf packs. The kanimas. The herd of freaking faeries that apparently live under these mountains.”

            “Faeries?” Lydia scoffed.

            “Yup. They're a real thing too. To be fair my aunt is dealing with them, I've not actually met one yet. Instead I get left with the nice juicy werewolf attack up on the ridge?”

            “Werewolf?”

            “Yeah. At least we think so. From what was left it's kind of hard to tell. Totally torn apart, like I mean completely. I've never seen anything... Lydia?”

            Stiles realised that she'd gone from her place beside him. He looked back to where she was standing. Her whole body was trembling. Walking up he placed her hand lightly on her shoulder and she started shaking her head.

            “No. No. No. It can't be. He can't have found me so soon. No.”

            “Lydia what's wrong.”

            Stiles ran a hand through the hair by her temple to cup her face. Her eyes came up to meet his, distorted by tears.

            “It's him. He's here. He's found me.”

            “Who? Who's here Lydia? They can't hurt you, I won't let them.”

            “No. No. You can't he'll hurt you. He's crazy. He's not who he was any more. I knew he'd come get me. I knew he'd never let me go.”

            Stiles squeezed her back.

            “Shh. It's okay. I'm here. I've got you. No one is going to hurt you ever again. I promise. Tell me who you think it is. Why are you so scared?”

            She looked at him, gripping the front of his shirt tight.

            “It's him Stiles. It's Jackson.”


	13. Intoxicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has drawn a blank in his investigations. There's only one avenue left and he's really not looking forward to taking it.

            Stiles did not want to be where he was right now. In fact he would rather be in the middle of the Sahara with nothing to drink but acid than where he was standing right now. And he'd rather stay where he was then go where he was headed.

            Sentinels, it turned out, were not the fount of all knowledge on things mystical and mysterious. Even when he'd gone to them with everything Lydia had told him, they were no closer to solving the mystery. Jackson's full blown assault on Lydia had not been the sole reason she'd left him. Reports of animals being torn to shreds had bounded round where they were staying for at least a week beforehand. Big animals, like stags and bears. She knew it was Jackson, confronted him on it and he'd beaten her to within an inch of her life. The whole story, the real story, had come out in the car as Stiles held Lydia in his arms and stewed in his anger.

            He'd found the local news reports. It sounded like the same thing. He'd managed to track them down the country from that little town in Oregon all the way to Beacon Hills. Each one was about 60 miles apart, a small little local horror story. This was the first human fatality. He'd gone through every book, website, beastiary and cereal box that might have something relevant, come up with a dozen things that could be going on but weren't.

            There was only one avenue of investigation left to him. He'd talked to Scott and the other betas but they knew precisely nothing about the intricacies of being a werewolf. They were all too new.

            He had to go to the source. He had to go to Derek. So now he was stood outside the Hale house, wishing that the Rapture would come so that he wouldn't have to deal with this horrendous situation.

            Perhaps this was what being in the Weiss Rat actually meant. Doing the thing that you wanted to do least in the world because it was the right thing to do. Wasn't that just the final bite in the ass?

            At first he'd tried to call, but he’d managed to leave his phone at school. There was no choice other than to head down and see the man in person. Stiles had been stood outside for five minutes until he was sure that someone else was home. He marched up to the door and barged in without knocking.

            Peter and Derek looked up as he walked in. They were both sat on the floor eating lunch. It was weirdly domestic, like they were having an indoor picnic. Stiles looked at Derek's shoulder rather than his eyes. If he looked into them he couldn't trust himself. He was here for Lydia. Lydia, the girl he was dating. Beautiful, sexy Lydia.

            “Stiles. Won't you come in?” said Peter.

            “Don't worry I won't be long,” Stiles said. He focused on Peter. “I'm here on business anyway.”

            “I was wondering when you'd show up,” Peter said getting to his feet in one smooth motion. “Let me guess. Hideous animal attack on local hiker?”

            Peter slapped a newspaper into Stiles' chest. He didn't need to read it, he'd already read the article a dozen times.

           “Deaton says it looks like a werewolf. Coroner found animal hair, tests came back this morning saying it's wolf. You ever seen a wolf do something like this?”

            Stiles passed the picture of the body to Peter, who grimaced when he looked at it. When it passed to Derek he snatched it out of Stiles' hand and glared at it, before shoving it back at Peter. His expression didn't change.

            “Never seen anything that bad before.” Peter said as he handed the photo back to Stiles. He could feel the tension in the room but had the sense to not say anything. “A were' might tear into someone on the full moon but it wasn't that night. It could just be that man and the wolf are both totally insane. It wasn't enough to kill, they had to destroy. If that's the case then we are all screwed.”

            Stiles tucked the photo back in his pocket.

            “Lydia thinks it's Jackson.”

            He tried to ignore how Derek jerked his head away when he mentioned Lydia and the little thrill of triumph it made him feel.

            “Jackson?” asked Peter. “What does Lizardman have to do with this? I heard his little lady was back in town but there's not been any sign of him. Has there?”

            Stiles quickly explained what Lydia had told him, leaving out some of the more personal details. Peter rolled his head over to look at Derek.

            “Oh. It looks like we _are_ all screwed.”

            Derek got to his feet, his whole face rigid with anger. Stiles did his best to not look at him but his peripheral vision seemed intent on following that fine, fine ass. He heard Peter laugh under his breath.

            “I will never understand-”

            Peter's phone bleeped, so Stiles never found out what he'd never understand. The man quickly read the message on the screen and threw his head back in despair.    

            “Oh for the love of… Erica has a flat. Looks like I’m up.” Peter grabbed a set of keys from one of the side tables and went to the door. “I'll leave you two love birds to get down to the real business. Honestly, the smell between you two is turning _me_ on.”

            Stiles watched the door slam closed. He was alone. With Derek. Crap.

            His palms were beginning to itch. The pull at the base of his ribcage, the one tugging him backwards towards Derek, began to jerk and twist, urging him to the other man. He shook himself. This was ridiculous. He was the one who had ended it. He was the one in control now.

            “I don't suppose you have anything to add?” Stiles asked to the back of Derek's head. The werewolf had turned away, looking at something on one of the side tables with profound interest.

            “No.”                           

            “Eloquent as always.”

            Derek tilted his head slightly, not turning around fully. His shoulders were tense.

            “What do you want me to say Stiles?”

            “I don't know. Something. I've not seen you since... since...”

            Derek turned around fully.

            “Since you dumped me?”

            Stiles didn't feel angry at Derek. He almost felt a little sad.

            “You can't dump someone if you weren't dating. We weren't dating. We weren't even... even fuck buddies. That implies at least some degree of affection.”

            Derek glared at him but said nothing. He turned his eyes down to his nails as he drew out his claws.

            “So are you and Lydia dating now?”

            Stiles threw his body around in an effort to expel his exasperation.

            “I _knew_ you were watching us. I _knew_ you wouldn't be able to stay away. You just can't stand it can you? Is it that I want to be with someone else, or that someone else wants me?”

            Derek looked up. His eyes locked with Stiles, freezing the boy to the spot, as he began to stalk forward. Stiles skittered back a few steps as Derek got close until he hit up against the wall. Derek placed his hand against the charred plaster by Stile's head. His claws were still drawn, digging great gouges into the surface.

            “What are you doing Derek?” Stiles said. There was nothing to his words but air. He tried to make them more forceful but his voice wasn't his own any more. “I told you. I'm done with this.”

            Derek held his body over Stiles, manoeuvring himself in close without actually touching so much as Stiles' shirt. Their chests rose and fell in synchronisation. Every breath that Stiles drew in was the air of Derek's last one out.

            “I can't stand watching someone pretend to want one thing when every inch of them really wants something else.”

            Stiles tried to stop himself but he was inhaling Derek with every breath. He couldn't resist. When Derek's lips finally brushed his, Stiles moved against them slowly. He wouldn't use his tongue. It didn't count if he didn't use his tongue.

            There was none of the fury of their last time in the woods but this was just as deadly. They were both intoxicated. Stiles couldn't even remember how they both ended up with their pants around their ankles, pressed into each other against the wall. Stiles' hands were clinging to the wall behind him so hard that charred wallpaper was coming off it in chunks. He wouldn't touch Derek. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

            He felt the warmth of Derek's erection pushing up against his own and everything else went away. His arms wrapped around Derek's neck. Even if he'd wanted to stop, he didn't know how. How could he do anything except surrender his body completely to the man who was wrapping his hands around them both as they moved slowly up and down against the wall.

            Stiles' eyes rolled back in his head as Derek squeezed his ass cheek with a free hand. Stiles needed this so much, why was he even pretending otherwise? He pulled himself close into Derek, forcing the two of them against each other. His eyes drooped open as he tried to focus his mind back into the room, pay attention to the man that caressed him rather than simply loosing himself in his arms.

            “ _Crap!_ ”

            Stiles shoved Derek backwards and hauled up his pants as quickly as he could around his hard on.

            “What?” Derek still looked drugged. Stiles pointed out the window to where Scott and Isaac were quickly making their way towards the house. Derek's heart must have gone into overdrive as he wiggled back into his own stupidly tight pants.

            The door swung open just as Derek finished buttoning his flies.

            “Hey! Scott! What are you doing here?”

            Stiles held his arms wide, trying his best to look like nothing was wrong, which, of course, made him look even more guilty. This face was probably red from stubble burn. Scott was frowning at him.

            “What am I doing here?” said Scott. “You were the one that text me to come over here.”

            Stiles pulled a face. What text?

            “No I didn't.”

            “Yeah you did,” he said. Scott fished out his phone and held the message up for Stiles to read.

            _From Stiles: Hale house. Now._

“I did not send that,” Stiles said.

            “You sent it to me too,” said Isaac holding out his own phone.

            “That... that doesn't even sound like me. Where's the sarcastic comment? Where is the veiled innuendo? Just 'Hale house, now'.”

            “I figured you were in a hurry,” said Scott shrugging.

            Just at that point Peter walked in with Erica and Boyd.

            “What's the hurry?” said Erica. She seemed incapable of looking at anyone without oozing sex. “We came over so what's the rush?”

            “You too? I don't even have my phone with me. I left it at school. Someone must have taken it.”

            “Smart lad, that'un.” The voice from the back of the room was heavily accented Irish.

            “That you are, aren't you Little Red?”

            They all turned to see Angela standing in hall from the kitchen. Her white coat was glowing amongst the blackened wood, but she wore it with her hood down. Beside her was a man Stiles had never seen before. He was very attractive. More than that, he was beautiful. Stiles had to struggle to take his eyes off of him. There was something wrong in the way he moved though. He slunk and slithered, his joints seemed to bend in way they shouldn't be able to.

            Angela whistled, drawing their attention back. They'd all been staring.

            “Looking for this?” she said holding up Stiles phone. “You really should take better care of your things.”

            She tossed him the phone and he caught it with ease. Angela cracked her knuckles loudly.

            “Looks like we're all here. Good. Let's get down to business.”

 


	14. Land of the Beautiful People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela is here to talk business with Stiles and the Pack but Stiles is somewhat distracted.

            “Isn't that your Mom?” Boyd asked Stiles.

            “Oh no,” said Peter stepping between Boyd and Erica. “That’s not Jane. This is Angela. You always did have a singularly unique aroma. Quite unforgettable.”

            His aunt raised an eyebrow as she cast an appraising look up and down Peter's body. She didn't move but met his eye with ease.

            “Peter Hale. Long time, no see. I see reports of your death were greatly exaggerated. What's it been? Thirty years?”

            “Ah to be sixteen again.” Peter never looked away. “So young. So free.”

            They were inches away from each other. Stiles recognised the look that was in their eyes. It was the look he'd caught in his reflection when he looked at Derek. Unbridled want.

            “Oh god,” Stiles said gagging. His aunt and Derek's uncle were not allowed to have sexual tension. Nope. That was not allowed to be and yet here it was, happening in front of him and there was not a thing he could do.

            “You knew about this?” It was Derek that spoke, rounding on his uncle and muscling in on their reunion.

            “Of course I did. We all did. Why do you think Jane came to Beacon Hills? She asked us to keep it quiet.”

            “Why the hell didn't you say anything afterwards!” Derek screamed.

            Peter was still staring at Angela, running his eyes down the course of her neck, her waist, her wrist. All the places that werewolves liked to bite.

            “After what? After she died, when I was in a coma? When I came out of the coma and the Stilinski boy was trying to kill me?” He turned away from Angela and looked first at Derek, then at Stiles. “I know a lot of things. You didn't ask, so I didn't tell.”

            The threat was not lost on them. Peter knew a lot of things about Derek and Stiles. Stiles hoped there was enough going on that none of the others would be listening to their heart beats or smell the linger scent of lust. He hoped it was currently being covered by his soul crippling fear.

            “Human relationships are so boring,” said the man behind Angela as he twirled about her. “I don't know how you stand it.”

            “Who is that?” Derek said. He was looking straight at Angela when he said it. His back was firmly towards Stiles, shifting focus away from him.

            She reached out and yanked off the chain the man wore around his neck. As he glared at her his body shivered and shook. His perfect face shifted and changed, bones moving under the surface into something too angular and sharp. Teeth, retracted and sharpened into fine points. His limbs became lithe and narrow, suddenly seeming to bend in too many places. His hair was changing, transforming into strands that were like spun gold. Literally. He was still pleasant to look upon, but alien. Above all, he looked dangerous.

            He plucked his chain back out of Angela's fingers. Jumping up, he grabbed onto the banister at the top of the stairs, flipping himself up to crouch on it like a goblin. The move should have been physically impossible, but he made it look like the easiest thing in the world.

            “What is it?” asked Erica.

            “Name's Eoghan,” he said spreading himself out along the banister like a cat, limbs hanging off each side. As he spoke he flashed two rows of razor sharp incisors. “And 'it' is the envoy of the Tuatha De Danann. Pleasure to meet you Miss.”

            “Too-who day Danana?” said Erica, struggling to get her tongue round the foreign words.

            “Faeries,” said Stiles. “You're a faery. That was a glamour before.”

            “As I said. Smart lad,” said Eoghan. The faery played with the chain that dangled from his fingers. It must have been what was holding his human face in place.

            “Faeries?” said Scott, thinking this was all a joke.

            “Yes, yes, faeries, leprechauns, pixies, all real. Just not what you think they are,” said Angela walking into the centre room. She put her hands on her hips and demanded the attention of the room. “There's a bunch that live in the hills and, now, someone is killing them.”

            “Like hells they are,” said Eoghan. He was wrapping his leg around the banister and slid off until he was hanging upside down like a bat. He was grinning at Peter. “You think a teeny tiny werewolf would be able to kill one of Dana's children? I'd like to see one of you try. They're killing the by-products of our little frolics.”

            “Frolics?” said Angela. “Is that what you call taking a person's face and sleeping with their wife?”

            Eoghan shrugged. It looked strange, what with him being upside down and appearing to have elbows that could bend in any direction.

            “You won't let us have any other fun. What is a lad supposed to do?”

            “Fun.” Angela's eyes were dark but she said nothing. Her idea of a good time obviously differed from her companion's.

            “I don't suppose you're going to explain what you're talking about at any point?” asked Stiles.

            Angela looked at him as if only just remembering that he was there.

            “I thought it was obvious. The animal attacks.”

            “Attacks,” said Stiles. “Plural?”

            “Yes. A few hours ago. Two elderly friends who had gone for a painting trip in the woods. Torn to shreds. Both were the progeny of one of Eoghan's brothers.”

            The man hanging from the ceiling was looking very smug with himself.

            “Actually, one was my daughter. Pretty little things, even now. If they weren't me own blood I'd have had a crack at them meself.”

            Angela's face didn't betray her disgust explicitly, but it was etched there all the same.

            “Delightful.”

            “Hang on,” said Erica.

            “Hanging.” Eoghan laughed. It was like the sound of a river, a pleasant flow on the top but with a deadly current under the surface.

            Erica carried on, only slightly perturbed.

            “You're saying that not only are there faeries, but that they pretend to be someone else to have sex with women in Beacon Hills without them knowing and have magical half faery babies.”

            Angela's reply was cool.

            “Yes. Hundreds of them if our tests are any good. Thank you for your help on that Stiles. The gonorrhoea rumour really helped drive the kids in.”

            Stiles smiled at Scott and gave a 'what you gunna do shrug'. Scott just looked at him blankly.

            “It was syphilis actually,” said Stiles.

            “The STI clinic was a front?” asked Isaac. There was a hint of panic in his voice. “You wanted to get all of our sexual histories?”

            “Don't be so paranoid. We just took some of your blood,” said Angela. If anything that made Isaac look even more paranoid. “Very interesting. Seems nearly a tenth of your school has faery blood in them, most of them second or third generation, but some had at least one parent that was full blooded faery. Erica has some.”

            “I do,” Erica asked. She stared at her own hands in disbelief. “You mean my Dad's not really my Dad?”

            “No, he's your Dad. It's quite far back, don't worry. Great grandparent probably,” said Angela. She turned to Eoghan. “You lot have been very busy for a very long time.”

            “We get bored and you won't let us play with them otherwise.” He reached up and snaked his way back onto the landing.

            “You say play. I call it murder.”

            “Our town is filled with half faeries?” said Scott. All of the betas were wearing his confused frown at the moment.

            “You live in Beacon Hills, land of the beautiful people. What did you think was going on?” asked Angela. She pointed at Boyd. “At your school that was an ugly loner. Of course you have faeries every which way.”

            Stiles had never thought about it, but there were a lot of hotties at their school. He'd always put it down to the clean mountain air.

            “We tested the victims. All were faery born, that is to say one of their parents was a full blooded, honest to God, psychopathic creature of nightmares.”

            “I'm lying right over here,” said Eoghan. He was writhing on the floor, stretching his muscles.

            “I know. That's why I said it,” said Angela.

            “Lydia thinks it's Jackson,” Stiles blurted out.

            He tried not to notice how Derek turned at the mention of her name, but he did. He saw the shink of claws as they extended, the slight gleam of red reflected in the grimy window panes.

            “Jackson?” said Angela. Ignoring Eoghan she walked towards Stiles.

            “Her um... her ex.”

            “The one that knocked her about?” said Angela. Stiles glared at her. He's specifically asked her not to say anything. Scott and the others looked at him with even more betrayal. “Well of course she's going to think he's doing it. She's terrified of the manipulative bastard, she'll think every creak on the stairs is him.”

            “She's not like that!” Stiles said. Anger rose in him. How dare she think Lydia so weak. “Besides, it fits. He was getting more violent, running out into the night, shifting without remembering why.”

            “Of course he was.” She was infuriatingly reasonable. It only made his blood boil more. “He was turning into an omega. I told you. They don't have as much control, that's one of the things a pack gives you. A dozen different anchors, all holding back the wolf from the man.”

            “He was attacking animals. Tearing them apart,” said Stiles.

            “Again, all perfectly reasonable omega behaviour. Okay, maybe not reasonable, but standard.”

            “No! Why won't you listen to me! I'm telling you that's not it!” Stiles was shouting now making the others back away. Peter and Eoghan were looking on with glee. Only Derek was beginning to take a more defensive stance.

            “I know you care about this girl,” said Angela sounding slightly bored, “but she's had a very difficult time. You are in the Weiss Rat now. You have to be objective about these things. You have to look at the facts and evaluate.”

            “How am I supposed to know that? Huh? How am I supposed to know what to do? You just tell me it's 'not your division', I need to work this one out for myself, good things come to those who wait and just leave me with nothing. No help, no back up. Nothing.”

            “You have your Sentinels. You have your brain. You have bestiaries and books and the friendly neighbourhood wolfpack. No one knows this situation better than you do.”

            She was trying to remain calm but there was frustration beginning to show. Stiles latched on to it, the rest of the room forgotten.

            “Are you kidding me! I'm a kid. I don't know a damn thing! I've read every one of those books cover to cover, even the one's in languages I couldn't understand and I still don't get any of this. You give me these amazing new powers, and then just leave me to work it all out for myself even when I ask you, beg you to help a guy out.”

            Angela was drumming her fingers on her hip bones as she looked at him. She was getting closer to the edge. Stiles had seen her snap once before and it had shocked him, but by God he wanted her to do it again. To see that perfect exterior crack.

            “I'm sorry that you think that Stiles,” she said. Her voice was terse behind the wall of blankness. “But people are dying and we need to sort this out.”

            “I know that! That's why you have to listen to what I'm trying to tell you about Jackson.”

            Stiles could see the snap. It wasn't the forceful raised voice of last time, but he saw the moment her resolve cracked just a little and she fixed him with those deep eyes that looked just like his mother's.

            “I realise that you're pissed off that I interrupted your fornication with Beefcake McSexywolf over there but you have to learn to prioritize. Your obligations outweigh your teenage libido, so can we just bring the situation back down for a moment.”

            The only person in the room who was breathing was Angela. Stiles felt like every muscle in his body had seized in place. He could see Derek, wide eyed and mouth agape. The betas were trying to not look at anyone, ignoring what had been said. Peter and Eoghan looked like they might die from joy.

            “I take it back,” said the faery. “Human relationships are fantastic!”

            “Wh... what... fornication? I don't...” He tried to form a coherent sarcastic comment to fob off what she had just said, but horror was restricting his vocal chords.

            “Please Stiles.” She almost sounded consoling. “ _I_ can smell you all over each other. This lot has known since they first walked in the door. They've probably known for weeks.”

            Stiles tried to make eye contact with Scott. His friend looked away guiltily, telling Stiles all he needed to know. They knew. They all knew.

            “You see. The situation isn't always how you read it, or how you want it to be. You want to be the white knight and rescue Lydia from Jackson. It's clouding your brain to the facts. Jackson is just another omega.”

            Stiles looked at the floor. His hands were on his hips, his foot tapping the floor. He wanted to scream, to yell, to try and explain. He wanted to run away.

            “Is there anything else?” He asked quietly, unable to even look his aunt in the eye. “I have something I need to get back to.”

            “Oh, don't go,” said Eoghan. “Things were just starting to get interesting.”

            The faery dropped off from the banister, landing like a cat and creeping back up to standing. His gaze was fixed on Derek.

            “I can see the appeal. I might have gone for a ride on this one myself.” He circled Derek, who was glaring right back. Eoghan turned his attention back to Stiles. “I could give him to you, you know. Make him fall hopelessly in love with you forever. I could give you his heart if you asked me to.”

            Eoghan's hand reached up towards Derek's chest. Stiles remembered what Manuel had said. They offer you your love's heart, then give it to you still beating.

            “NO!” Stiles shouted. Too forceful. Recovering he tried to sound unfeeling while the image of Derek with his chest ripped open still burned in his mind. “I don't want it. Any of it.”

            Derek lowered his eyes and stalked away, pride bruised at Stiles blunt refusal of him in front of his pack. Somehow, some way, Stiles knew he was going pay for that one later.

            “So. Can I go?” Stiles could feel the bile rising in his throat.

            “I've said all I have to say for now,” said Angela. Business with a touch of apology. “This investigation is both of ours now we know if involves faery kin. I'll keep you appraised. Is there anything you want to add?”

            Stiles made a point of looking at Derek as he backed towards the door.

            “No. I'm done here.”

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nearly called this chapter "Beefcake McSexwolf". So very nearly...


	15. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows about Stiles and Derek, and Stiles needs to talk to his best friend about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack.

            Stiles walked up to his Jeep and put his hands on the bonnet. His chest was beginning to constrict. Everyone knew. Everyone knew that he'd slept with Derek. Multiple times. He'd cheated on Lydia. They were going to tell her. The look on their faces.

            His heart was racing. He was going to be sick. His stomach was cramping as he leaned forward, his whole body trying to curl up to protect itself. His chest was in agony, he was going to die. His heart was stopping. It was beating too fast, it couldn't hold. It was going to burst. He was dying. Oh god, oh god. His heart was going to explode.

            No. No it wasn't. He needed to remember what to do. That was all, just remember what to do. This wasn't his first panic attack, he didn't have to let this claim him. He needed to breathe, to stay calm and just breathe. Standing up straight he put his arms behind his head, opening up his chest to make it easier to breathe. He closed his eyes and imagined he was somewhere else, somewhere Derek had never been. The beach he'd gone to on holiday with his parents one year.

            'Stop!' he yelled in his head. 'Stop!'

            He screamed at himself mentally until all other thoughts fell silent.

            “I am having a panic attack,” he stuttered out when he'd managed to calm himself enough. “I am going to be fine. This has happened before and I got through it. All I need is to remain calm.”

            He stood like that for another minute, breathing in through his nose and then exhaling out of his mouth. He could feel his heart rate dropping. He counted out the beats until he couldn't hear them pounding in his ears any more. One last deep breath and he opened his eyes again.

            Drained. That was how he always felt after. All that adrenaline flooding his system with nowhere to go. It fired him up and then let him crash back down.

            Stiles heard footsteps behind him and felt his chest constrict again. He started to breathe. Kill the attack before it starts. He opened the car door and got in, waiting for Scott to climb into the passenger seat beside him. Without a single word exchanged he started the car and drove off towards the main road.

            It was five minutes before Stiles broke the silence.

            “Are you angry?”

            His voice was hoarse and raw.

            “Angry? Why would _I_ be angry?” asked Scott.

            “Because I didn't tell you. About Derek.” Stiles gripped the steering wheel tightly as he said the man's name. Keep calm. Now is not the time to have another panic attack.

            “Oh,” said Scott. He sounded small. “That. We kind of figured Derek was stopping you from saying anything.”

            We. Crap. There had been discussions.

            “How long have you known?” asked Stiles, not really wanting the answer.

            “Not long. A few days. Suspected really, we weren't sure. At first we thought it was your Dad.”

            Stiles started so hard he nearly swerved off the road.

            “My Dad!”

            “Yeah. Derek started coming back smelling weird. Then when I was round your house I realised what it was. Old Spice. The body wash your Dad uses.”

            Classic. Derek took the care to not use Stiles' stuff to wash with so he didn't smell like Stiles. Didn't even think about not smelling like his Dad.

            “And you didn't think I might want this information?”

            “That your Dad was having a secret affair with Derek? We thought we might need some proof before that little bit of earth shattering information. We tailed Derek for a while, but he caught us pretty much straight away and kicked our asses. So we paid attention to your Dad. Came up with nothing. Figured it must be a coincidence. Then both you and Derek started acting really mopey on the same day. At the sex clinic you were pretending like it was all a joke but we could see that you were worried about what they might find. We put two and two together. Okay, Erica put two and two together.”

            Silence descended again. And he thought he'd been so cool about it.

            “He never said I couldn't say anything,” said Stiles at last. “I just... I didn't know what I should tell you. I don't even know what we are. What we were.”

            All the emphasis went all the last word.

            “So, it's over then?”                                    

            “Yes,” said Stiles forcefully. His shoulders went slack then. Everything was out in the open. He could be honest. “I think so. I don't know. I'm with Lydia. I want to be with Lydia. I've been in love with her since forever and now she wants to be with me. Really wants to be with me. And when I'm with her everything is great.”

            He paused. Even thinking about the man made his heart begin to race

            “And then Derek comes along and it's like I'm not in control any more. Something just takes over me and I can't help myself. He's just there with his muscles and that brooding and oh my god the sex...”

            Scott let out a strangled screech of horror to cut Stiles off.

            “You really need to stop talking now! You know I'm cool with the whole gay, bi, tri whatever thing but I really cannot know the details about you having sex with Derek. That is not something I can have in my brain.”

            Stiles looked at Scott's expression. It wasn't disgust, well it was, but not like he'd thought it would be. It was the look you got when you realised that your parents had sex, or that teachers did. It wasn't horrific and you were kind of happy for them, but talk about squicky.

            “Sorry. I get it. But dude. Amazing.”

            Stiles couldn't help himself. Scott was trying to make himself blend into the seat cushions.

            “Shut up.”

            “Oh my God I can't feel my feet any more amazing.”

            Scott was clamping his hands over his ears.

            “Shut up or I will shut you up!”

            Stiles laughed. A real, proper laugh that he felt as it faded away into his black mood.

            “You don't have to worry about me talking about it anymore. It's over. Now that people know, Derek won't let it happen again.”

            Scott sat up in the seat and looked at Stiles.

            “I don't know Stiles. I think he feels the same way. And he's a werewolf. Self-control is not something we have in abundance.” He barked a single laugh. “Maybe you're a little bit werewolf after all.”

            “Can you even be a little bit werewolf? I can't be a full werewolf but maybe hanging around the lot of you so long is wearing off.”

            “You can't?” asked Scott. This was the first he'd heard.

            “Nope. It's one of the side effects of taking the White. Have to be completely, 100 % non supernatural other than the amazing clairvoyant power. I get bit, it won't take.”

            He'd read it in one of the bestiaries that the Council had sent over. There was no manual on being in the White Order, but there were snippets of information hidden throughout their works.

            “So what, you'll die?” asked Scott.

            Stiles shrugged.

            “Didn't say. Bottom line, not something I want to test any time soon.”

            “Taking the white,” said Scott with amusement. “Sounds so formal.”

            “Look who's laughing, beta boy.”

            “I'll have you know I am a beta acting as a sub-alpha. I have a special place in Derek's pack.”

            “You totally just made that up,” said Stiles.

            “Why don't we go back to talking about you, Council boy,” snapped Scott. “Council. That just makes it sound so lame. Like it's the student body council or the prom comity.”

            “The White Order very much comes with a capitalisation, I think you'll find. You've never really shown an interest in this stuff before.”

            It was nice talking about this stuff out in the open. All of it. Derek, the Council, what it all meant.

            “Because I thought we weren't allowed to ask,” said Scott defensively. “You pretended to kill my girlfriend to get me worked up enough to tear into Gerard. It's kind of terrifying.”

            “You're scared of me?” asked Stiles. That thought had never occurred to him.

            “Ha! Hardly. I'm just... it's like with the werewolf thing. There are some things you won't understand, but you'll always be around to help when it goes bad. It's the same with me and the Council deal. There will always be stuff you can't tell me, but I know it's for my own good. Is this making any sense?”

            “Perfect,” said Stiles. “I just never thought you'd be so understanding. I thought you would have been shouting at me and getting angry for keeping things from you.”

            “I am in a unique position _to_ understand Stiles. I've been lying and deceiving the people I love most in the world ever since I got turned. Sometimes you can't say things.”

            “Yeah,” said Stiles, “but you always told me, didn't you.”

            Scott scratched the back of his head.

            “Not always. It's like you said back when that whole thing with Matt and Jackson when down. You're not one of us. You're not a hero. I just... I wanted to give you some space. I thought you might need it.”

            It had been space that Stiles had needed. After the first flurry of excitement it had taken him some time to work out what it all meant. He didn't need a thousand questions he didn't know the answer to flying at his head every five minutes.

            “Thanks,” he said at last. “I appreciate it, but don't feel like you can't say anything if you want to. It helps to talk.”

            “Okay.”

            The two of them fell into the comfortable silence that you got used to when you've known someone for as long as they had, but eventually Scott broke it as a question bubbled into his mind.

            “So. You and Lydia.”

            Stiles smiled. He was trying very hard to only remember the beginning of their date. It had been a pretty perfect first date as they went until Jackson had reared his ugly head.

            “Me and Lydia.”

            “How’s that going?”

            “Good. I think I might actually have a shot with this.”

            If I can keep my pants on around Derek, Stiles thought bitterly, but kept his mouth firmly shut on that train of thought.

            “She seems really freaked out though, especially round me and the others,” said Scott. “Allison's worried about her.”

            Stiles wondered what he could and couldn't say on that. Lydia had come to him in confidence, she wouldn't want him sharing that with everyone.

            “It's just stuff with Jackson,” said Stiles.

            “Yeah. I guessed that, what with what your aunt said back then.”

            He still couldn't believe what Angela had said. Anger was beginning to bubble up against her somewhere below his rib cage.

            “Yeah. Lydia's strong though. She'll make it through.”

            “Good,” said Scott. “She deserves to be happy. You both do.”

            Stiles couldn't help but agree.


	16. The Wedding Singer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia watch 'The Wedding Singer', but there's something playing on Stiles' mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! The following contains scenes of a heterosexual nature.

            Lydia was sat on the Stilinski's couch with Stiles, her legs tucked up under her as she ate from the popcorn bowl that was sitting on his lap. He tried to pay attention to the movie but it was difficult. His mind was trying to race off in a dozen different directions at once. Psycho werewolf killers, ancient orders, _faeries_ and the ex of the girl, who may or may not be his new girlfriend, who may or may not be evil. But not Derek. He was definitely, categorically not thinking about Derek.

            “Normally I hate Adam Sandler,” said Lydia, “but in this he's really good. Good singer too.”

            “I can't believe you've never seen _The Wedding Singer._ It's one of the best movies ever.”

            Like so many other things, he'd picked out this film years ago. It was romantic, so she would like it. It was funny, so he'd like it and be able to quip jokes and show his excellent comic timing. He could sing along with 'Wanna Grow Old With You' at the end, pretending that he didn't realise that he was doing it showing how he was unafraid of commitment, while also appearing whimsical and romantic.

            The more he thought back on it, the creepier his carefully planned dates seemed.

            On the screen Adam Sandler and Drew Barymore where performing a practice kiss for Drew's big day. On the couch, Stiles became very aware of Lydia scooching in closer, her fingers trailing up and down his leg. His brain replaced her delicate touches with Derek's firm grasps as he hauled Stiles’ legs apart and shoved himself inside with such exquisite agony.

            He jumped so hard that he nearly knocked the popcorn off his lap.

            “What's wrong?” Lydia said cringing back from him.

            He thrust the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose and waited until the image went away, but it would be a while until his heart relaxed again. Ever since he'd taken the white his memories were becoming more visceral. He could smell and taste everything. It was making forgetting Derek much harder when with every stray memory he could feel another person's saliva in his mouth and smell their mingled sweat upon his skin.

            “It's nothing. Just a bad memory.” As he said it he realised how that might sound to Lydia. “Not of you touching me. Obviously. Of...”

            He was looking into her eyes now. The light from the TV made them shimmer and flicker. They were so wide and honest. He couldn't lie to them. He'd done too much lying.

            “Lydia there's something I need to tell you.”

            She could sense the tone in his voice. Looking away she unfurled her legs and sat up straight on the sofa.

            “Okay. I'm listening.”

            “The other day, after our date, I saw... I saw my ex again.” From the way her back straightened he could tell she knew what came next. “I promise you, I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't want it to, but suddenly they were there in my face and my pants were around my ankles and-”

            “You can spare me the details Stiles.” Her voice was clipped but not exactly angry. More annoyed. “Did you have sex with her.”

            “No,” he said, “but I probably would have done if we weren't interrupted.”

            She was nodding slowly. “Aren't you going to promise me it won't happen again?”

            She was giving him an out, trying to give him a second chance.

            “No. I can't. I'm trying, God knows I'm trying. I don't want to be with them, I don't want to have sex with them but when they're next to me it's like... like I'm not in control any more. It's like my mind shuts down and something else takes over.”

            “It's called your crotch,” she said bluntly.

            It wasn't though. Stiles knew that. There was something deeper than that. There was something that had taken root inside him and kept pulling him towards Derek and the harder he fought against it the stronger it pulled.

            “I'm sorry. I should have told you before. You can go home if you-”

            Her hand slammed into his chest, keeping him from getting up.

            “You told me. That's more than most guys.”

            “You're not... you're not pissed?”

            “Oh I'm pissed. Did she start it or did you?”

            “They did,” Stiles said, wondering how long it would take her to work out how careful he was being with pronouns. When she still thought it was a girl it made the situation more distant, easier to deal with.

            “So it's just some bitch who can't get her own man trying to steal mine.”

            Her head swivelled to look straight at him. Her face softened as her eyes traced down his body and back up to his eyes. “A hot girl, I'm assuming she's at least a little hot, jumps on you and drags your pants down. She's the only girl you've ever had sex with, the only person who's ever claimed you like that. It's going to be hard to resist.”

            She got up and swung one of her legs over him, so that she was sat straddled in his lap. She ran her hand around her head, sweeping her hair to one side as she leaned in. When she kissed him this time it was nothing to do with comfort or pleasantry. It was kissing with a purpose. Her hips moved in time with the motion of her lips, sending jolts right to his groin. There was no way she'd miss that but she didn't seem to mind. If anything it was spurring her on.

            “What are you doing?” he asked. He could feel the 'sex-stupids' coming on and wanted to be sure of what was happening before his groin took over.

            “I think you know.” She thrust slightly to show her point. “You can't help yourself around her because she's the only person you've ever had sex with and sex is all teenage boys think about. It's a very strong association. One I intend to break.”

            Stiles couldn't disagree. Her hands were sliding up under his shirt, scratching her broken nails up his chest. His mind was beginning to skip like an old record.

            “Break it how exactly?” he asked.

            She leant back and stood up in front of him. Her eyes were hooded slightly, looking straight at him as she unbuckled her belt and let it fall to the floor. She grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it off over her head.

            Lydia Martin was stood in front of him in nothing but her matching silk bra and panties. He nearly passed out right there and then.

            She crooked a finger at him and stepped backwards towards the door. He didn't even realise that he'd followed her until she'd backed herself into the wall, waiting for him. She grabbed the lapels of his shirt and kissed him hard before dashing up the stairs, stopping half way to beacon him on again. He followed.

            When they fell through the door into his room they were kissing again, his arms winding round the softness of her waist. She was stripping his shirt off his shoulders and then lifted his tee over his head before going straight for his belt. His trousers were off before they hit the mattress. It was passionate and intense, but it wasn't wild and feral like it was with Derek.

            This was about _not_ thinking about Derek, he chastised himself, so stop with the comparisons.

            Lydia was straddling him, her pale skin alive in the moonlight. She took his hand and pressed it firmly against her breast. For a moment Stiles looked at it in horror, unsure what was happening. Then he began to squeeze gently, rubbing his thumb against the smooth fabric. He could feel the nub of her nipple hardening beneath his touches. She hissed, biting down on her bottom lip. Her hips bucked against him, separated by two of the thinnest layers.

            _On the floor of the woods. Derek pressed against him, hard and heavy._

He grabbed on to her, rolling them over so that he lay on top of her. He made sure he felt every inch of skin against his. Her skin. Soft skin, not hard with muscle. Smooth to touch. She wrapped him tightly, her fingernails digging into his back and dragging downwards. He could feel the reddening marks left by her claws.

            _Against the lockers, the tips of claws threatening against his skin._

He buried himself in her lips, reaching down to pull her leg up around his own. She pushed him off so that she could sit on him once more. Rearing up he took in every curve. She fixed his eyes on him but he couldn't help looking as she reached around behind her back and undid the fastening of her bra. She held it on as she took the straps off her shoulders. She let it fall away, dangling it from her fingers before holding it out over the edge of his bed, and dropping it on the floor.

            Stiles swallowed. Hard.

            She took his hands and placed both of them on her chest. His hands were on her breasts. Lydia's breasts. Her womanly, womanly breasts. Nothing he can associate to Derek there.

            He leaned up towards her and kissed her before falling back together. He ran his fingers through her hair.

            _Fingers laced through short dark hair as stubble grazed his thighs and a mouth worked his cock._

Stiles vision shattered as her hands worked their way downwards. All at once he saw everything. Her working loose his trousers. Her mouth covering every inch of him as his covered her. Delving into each other. She was trembling, screaming, sometimes ecstasy, sometimes horror. Every touch stuttered in his brain before he made it. She was cowering from him. She was moaning under him. Every action could bring either joy or sadness.

            He couldn't pin himself down. Her hands were all over him, caressing him but he couldn't keep himself in the moment. He was lost and he had to fight his way back, anchor himself in the present the only way he knew how.

            He thought about Derek and it was like jumping off a building onto concrete.

            Him and Derek alone, stealing moments of passion where they could. He hated himself for loving those moments so much. He was cringing as he tried to get away from his own mind, shrinking back from the images he couldn't help conjurer. How had she not noticed? How had his frantic fight been lost on her?

            Stiles opened his eyes as he kissed her. Her’s weren't closed. They were screwed shut as she tried to eradicate the images that weren't really there. His body went loose, the want and need leaking out of him.

            “Lydia,” he said.

            “Yes.” She was still kissing his neck. Stiles could see tears were beginning to run down her cheek.

            “You're thinking about Jackson, aren't you?”

            There was a moment's pause broken by the heavy metronome of her breath against his chest.

            “Yes. You're thinking about her, aren't you?”

            “Yeah.”

            She kissed him one last, long time and slid off sideways. They lay there staring at the ceiling for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts as the passion dissipated completely. Eventually he felt Lydia turn her head to look at him.

            “Mind if I stay here tonight? I don't want to spend another night alone.”

            “I think if I kicked you, nearly completely naked, out of my bed past me would come in here and kick my ass out of the atmosphere.”

            She smiled and slithered in closer, curling up against him so that her hand was resting on his chest, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

            “Thanks,” she said.

            He could feel her eyelashes on his side as she blinked.

            “No problem.”


	17. 'The Talk'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his Dad have 'the talk'. It is very awkward.

            The smell of coconut greeted Stiles the next morning. Lydia's face was peaceful with sleep as she lay beside him. Her hair was a mess and her make-up had smudged during the night but it didn't alter her beauty to him. He'd seen her after she'd been wandering in the woods all night and she'd been stunning even then. Not that he'd been looking at her face much seeing as how she'd been naked at the time.

            Like she was now, he remembered and was suddenly fully awake once more. The full picture of last night’s events played back in an instant. He felt her stirring against him; her fingers were trailing against his chest, humming contentedly. She froze for a second, realising it was Stiles and not Jackson she was lying against.

            “Morning,” he said.

            She laid her hand flat on his chest and pressed her cheek closer into him.

            “Morning,” she said.

            “So. You're naked?”

            “Yup. So are you.”

            She looked up at him, still curled against his side. They both started to laugh, big full bodied laughs that took over your whole body and made it hard to breath. Lydia rolled to the side, the sheet falling down exposing a breast that jiggled with each gaffaw. This only made Stiles laugh harder. He was in bed, naked with Lydia but all he could think about how much he wished he’d had this moment with Derek. It really was a cosmic joke.

            Eventually the laughter subsided. Lydia suddenly realised how exposed she was and covered herself with the sheet, scouting around the bed.

            “Bra. I definitely think I should put my bra back on.”

            Stiles leant out over the side of the bed and retrieved it, holding it at arm’s length as he passed it over. The sight made Lydia begin to laugh again as she snatched it away.

            “It's a bra Stiles. It's not covered in toxic waste.”

            She swung out to sit on the side of the bed as she did it up and Stiles watched the muscles moving in the back of her shoulders. Even though they were smaller and less defined they reminded him of the way Derek's muscles moved when he put his shirt on after they had sex. There was no point in trying not to make the association. It was a pointless exercise and only made the longing worse.

            Lydia sighed and looked back at him over her shoulder.

            “What happens now?”

            He sat up, making sure to keep himself covered with a sheet. Despite the fact that her hands had been shoved down them only eight hours ago he didn't want Lydia to see him sitting in his boxers.

            “What do you want to happen now?” he asked.

            She looked down at the pillow she'd been sleeping on, stained black in places by her mascara.

            “I like you Stiles, you're one of the good guys, but I think we're both a little too messed up right now.”

            “Agreed,” Stiles laughed. “So... friends?”

            She shook her head.

            “No. I don't think I want that either. I think... I want this,” she said flicking her finger between the two of them, “just without this,” she pointed down to the bed. “Is that too much to ask?”

            Stiles shook his head.

            “Actually, that sounds pretty good to me right now.”

            She leaned over and kissed him. There were no uncontrollable shocks, no feeling that he might pass out or die if he wasn't allowed to touch her. It was just a nice kiss. She pulled away and looked around his bedroom once more, her eye halting by the door.

            “I don't suppose there's the smallest chance in hell you thought to bring my dress up last night.”

            “No, wh...”

            Stiles bolted up right and looked at the small pile of perfectly folded clothing by the door. At the time he'd been too focused on Lydia's body to think about anything else. His Dad must have come home, found clothes thrown all around the living room and then brought them up. Which meant he had also seen Lydia. In his bed. Naked.

            Well if this wasn't going to be a whole heap of awkward.

            “I think I might just leave that whole conversation to you and your Dad,” she said. “I better be going anyway. I told my parents I was coming over here but not that I was staying. They don't seem to mind me staying over even though they know we're dating. Is that weird?”

            She got up and dressed herself quickly as Stiles put on his jeans and a clean t-shirt.

            “Perhaps they can see what a stand-up guy I am.”

            She smiled and put her arms around his neck to kiss him again. After, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment.

            “Time to go face the music Stiles,” she said.

            Her hand trailed against his as she made her way downstairs and went to find her shoes. When they got back into the hallway Sheriff Stilinski was already in the leaning against the door frame. Stiles avoided eye contact at all costs.

            “Morning Lydia.”

            “Morning,” she replied. Of course she wasn't fazed at having been caught in the man's son's bed. She had nothing to be ashamed about. “See you later Stiles.”

            He gave her a peck on the cheek before turning to go. Stiles stood in the doorway, his father’s eyes searing into his cranium, as he watched Lydia get into her car and drive away.

            When he turned around his Dad was still staring at him. He couldn't stop his eyes from meeting his father's. His Dad went into the kitchen with a meaningful look that Stiles chose to ignore, instead heading for the safety of his room.

            “Get in here!” his Dad called as soon as his foot touched the first step.

            He swung his body back, legs refusing to follow for a second. He walked into the kitchen like a man heading towards the electric chair. His Dad was already sat at the table, which was bare except for a mug of coffee beside his Dad's clasped hands.

            “Sit,” his Dad ordered. Stiles obeyed like the obedient pup he seemed incapable of being most of the time.

            His Dad leaned back and took a deep breath.

            “Anything you want to tell me son?”

            “Want to? I aced the calculus test last Friday.”

            “Stiles.” It was his 'now is not the time for sarcasm' voice.

            Stiles sunk down into his chair, knowing he was defeated.

            “Do we really need to have 'the talk'.”

            “Yes. We do. And it is going to be awkward and embarrassing and we are both going to hate it, but we are going to have it.”

            His Dad picked up the mug of coffee and drank deeply, slamming it back down empty. Stiles suspected that the coffee was not entirely coffee.

            “Let's start with what I saw last night,” said Stiles' Dad.

            Stiles leaned forward in his chair.

            “Okay. I know what you... what you saw.”

            “You mean the naked, emotionally damaged girl in your bed?”

            Stiles cringed. When it was laid out like that of course it sounded bad.

            “Dad, I swear nothing happened.”

            “So her clothes just magically fell off and you decided the best way to prevent hypothermia was to sleep in the same bed?”

            Stiles cringed imagining his father's face when he walked in on the two of them.

            “Fine. Something happened. We made out a little, there was... a degree of nakedness but we didn't, you know... nothing after that...”

            “You mean you didn't have sex,” his Dad said bluntly. “Good because if you can't even say the words then you definitely shouldn't be doing the deed.”

            His Dad leaned back again and rubbed his shoulder.

            “We didn't have sex, no,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “She's still upset about... stuff. She started freaking out and so I stopped it.” Stiles left out the part where he freaked out too.

            Stiles' father looked at him with surprise.

            “You stopped it?”

            “Of course. She didn't want to, so I put a stop to it.”

            His Dad looked at him in silence before resting his hands back on the table.

            “Stiles. I know you know about being careful.” He was referring to the stash of condoms he'd once accidentally found in Stiles night stand, luckily when he was running low so there were only a few in the drawer. They'd ignored that one at the time, Stiles claiming he wasn't even seeing anyone, you never know, they were giving them out at school yadda yadda yadda. Just another of the many secrets Stiles Stilinski was charged with keeping. At least that one was his own. His Dad continued. “But there are other things you have to protect against other than pregnancy and STIs. Lydia freaked out because something happened to her. You seem to be the only person that she trusts enough to open up about it. I hope I'd raised you to be the kind of kid who wouldn't abuse that trust. I thought I might have been hoping that in vain when I saw her last night. Maybe I wasn't.”

            Stiles couldn't look at his Dad. He wasn't the kid that his Dad had brought up any more and he knew it was one of the things that kept his father up at night. He was raising this kid alone while trying to be a good cop when the town was going mad around him and Stiles was always in the centre of it.

            “You're a good Dad,” said Stiles quietly. “I'm not always a great kid, but... you're doing a good job.”

            His Dad smiled and got up, crossing over to give his son a great big bear hug.

            “I mean it though,” his Dad said stepping back. “You kids get told safe sex is all about condoms but it's not. The biggest thing you have to worry about is your heart getting broken. Using a condom is easy but you take that step before you’re ready or with the wrong person and you can damage yourself in a place that will never heal. I don't want that to happen to her. Or to you.”

            Stiles wished with all of his heart that his father had had this conversation with him six months ago. Maybe then he might be able to kiss Lydia now without thinking about the hands of another man all over his body.

            “Thanks Dad. I promise I'll be careful.” He meant it in every sense of the word.

            His Dad went to put his mug in the sink, stopping half way.

            “Hey Stiles. You are a great kid. You're not always a _good_ kid, and you are certainly weird as hell, but I wouldn't have anyone else.”

            Hands in pockets, Stiles went back to his room. His homework was in a pile on the end of his desk, above the draw where he kept his books on all things that shouldn't exist. He really needed to get on with that lot. He'd barely picked up his physics text book when he realised his phone was in his hand. He hit accept call before the first chirp of his ring tone had sounded.

            “Hey Manuel,” he said, knowing who was on the other end before he even realised he was talking.

            “Got the phone thing down already,” said Manuel.

            “Just kind of happens. What I can't tell is what this is about?”

            Stiles heard Manuel sigh on the other end of the line. There was music playing in the background. The kind with fiddles and acoustic instruments.

            “It's Angela. She just called me. Remember when I told you if she lets her hair down she lets it all the way down?”

            “Let me guess. She's let her hair down?”

            “Big style. Something's up with her and I think someone should go check up on her, but I'm in the middle of a big dealio right now. Think you could go look up on her?”

            Stiles looked at the pile of books in front of him. It wasn't like he had nothing better to do than go look after the aunt who had only a few days previous outted him to all of his friends. He hadn’t seen her since that day. He’d been hoping he could just avoid her forever.

            “Sure,” he said. That was what being in the White Order meant right? Doing what had to be done even when you really, really didn't want to.

            Manuel read him off the address, giving him instructions as another voice joined him on the phone demanding he come back to the revels.

            “Text me if anything happ-”

            The line went dead as Manuel got cut off. Stiles threw his book back on the desk and collapsed further into his chair for a moment, before going off to see what his insane aunt wanted now.


	18. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles aunt has let her hair down. Right the way down. Her hair is somewhere in China right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The following contains all of the swearing. All of it!
> 
> Everything that happens in this scene has relevance to the plot. Honest.
> 
> Also you might like to bear in mind that I semi-act out a lot of my dialogue out loud to make sure that it reads right. This chapter was fun.

            The sound of Angela letting her hair down could be heard from the driveway as Stiles pulled up outside the small apartment block that Manuel had directed him to. Loud music was playing from one of the windows, accompanied by the shouting of his aunt brutalising the lyrics.

            He keyed in the code he'd been given at the front entrance and went up to the apartment. The door was unlocked, he knew before he got there. The entrance hallway looked the same as any other apartment that he had ever seen, but there was a chemical smell in the air. When he walked into what was supposed to be the living room he realised why. At first he was scared because he thought he'd walked into a meth lab by accident. On closer inspection he realised that the chemistry set gone haywire was actually for the carefully ordered racks of hundreds and hundreds of blood samples. So this was where they tested the town for fairy DNA.

            Stiles followed the sound of his aunt's voice to the kitchen. As soon as he entered he kicked an empty bottle of wine across the floor. Angela spun, her own momentum nearly knocking her over. There was another bottle in her one hand and a glass in the other that had been full a moment ago and was now sloshing out onto the floor.

            “Come on in Stiles,” she slurred angrily. “I'm drinking wine.”

            She refilled the glass, taking a swig from the bottle for good measure, emptying the last drops on to her tongue.

            “Crap,” she said dropping it on the floor. “Empty.”

            “Oh my god, you're wasted. It's four in the afternoon and you are wasted.”

            “Your powers of deduction never cease of amaze, Holmes.” She knocked back the rest of the glass in one go. “You got here just in time. There's not a drop of booze left in his place that I ain't already drank. Come on taxi boy.”

            She pushed him backwards towards the living room again. He was getting pretty tired of this pretty quickly.

            “You think I'm going to take you to get more alcohol? You can barely stand.”

            “You're going to take me, Little Red, or else I am going to go by myself, get completely slaughtered and then get hit by a car while I stagger back drunk. Search your feelings, you know it to be true.”

            Finishing the wine she threw the glass in the sink, smashing it. She threw her hands up over her head and yelled.

            “Whoo! Ten points to Angela!”

            She staggered sideways and grabbed a black hold all from against the wall.

            “What's that for?” said Stiles, resigned to his lot in life.

            “Not a fucking clue. I'm sure we'll find out later, won't we you bitch.” The last comment was pointed towards her white coat which she patted as she walked past. “Just another one of those little things you got me doin' without knowing why.”

            Stiles turned off her music and shut the windows, leaving his aunt to stagger downstairs alone. With any luck she'd fall and break her neck, then all of this would be over. Never one to suffer from an overabundance of luck, Stiles found her struggling with his passenger door.

            “You're piece of shit Jeep is broken,” she slurred.

            “You mean my Mom's Jeep is locked.” At least she'd have one hell of a hangover in the morning. That was some consolation to him.

            She clambered in and tried to do up the seat belt, her double vision stopping her from making the buckle lock properly. Each attempt was accompanied by a new oath or blaspheme.

            “Come on you stupid mother fucking, cock sucking, arse wanking, feck faced schweinhund!” she said, finally making the thing connect.

            “Can we go now?” Stiles said.

            “Drive on, my most excellent boy, drive on.”

            “Don't suppose you had a destination in mind?” he asked. The inner most reaches of the Sun, perhaps?

            “The closest, cheapest bar that you can find,” she said slumping down in the chair.

            Why was he letting himself be dragged into what was obviously one woman's mental break down? This had nothing to do with the Council, that much was clear. He had no reason to offer her any loyalty either. This was the woman who had announced he was screwing Derek to a room of people. A room full of people who already knew, admittedly, but that wasn't the point. It was his private business and why had she done it? To make a point.

            He pulled up to a bar a few blocks away and pointed towards it.

            “There you go. Skeezy dive bar to the rescue. Go drink yourself silly, I'll just wait out here like an idiot.”

            “Like fuck you will.” She unbuckled herself with as much grace as she'd fastened it, then started to claw at Stiles' seat belt, pushing him out towards the door.

            “What are you doing?”

            “You're coming with. I have some vital life lessons that I need to impart over a bottle of tequila.”

            She gave up trying to push him out the closed door. Instead she got out and went round to his side, pulling him out and dragging him towards the bar. It was the kind of place where most of the clientele was either at the bar or secreted in dingy booths. The lights were turned down, there were no windows and old rock music was playing out of the jukebox.

            “I hate to burst your bubble but I'm still sixteen and I don't exactly look any older.”

            Right on queue the bartender stepped across to where they were leaning against the counter.

            “Sorry ma'am, but I'm going to have to see some ID. For both of you.”

            “You want ID huh? Here's my freaking ID. Agent Weiss, FB fucking I. You let me and my associate get what we want or you are going to find your little establishment slapped with a health code violation so big they'll have to burn this place to the ground to make it sanitary again. He's driving anyway. He'll have a coke.”

            The bartender stood firm reading the ID over and over again, obviously thinking it was a fake. Angela swore again and put her hand over his, looking imploringly into his eyes.

            “You're fine with him staying. You want to get me a drink.”

            The bartender’s eyes went completely black, only for an instant but Stiles was sure he'd seen it. Angela removed her hand from the bartender and he blinked his eyes as if in pain.

            “Yeah. I'll get you both a drink. What are you having?” he said. She'd done something to him to make him bend to her will. How had she done that?

            “Tequila. No, whiskey. No! Vodka. Whatever will get me drunkest cheapest fastest.”

            The bartender raised an eyebrow but fetched an unlabelled bottle of amber coloured liquid and poured a shot. Angela drained it in one. Her whole body looked like it was going into convulsions as she swallowed. Banging her hand on the bar top she shook her head and coughed.

            “That's what I'm talking about. Here's a hundred bucks. Leave the bottle.”

            The bartender took the note carefully and examined it under the light. It was real. He looked at Stiles.

            “She's not going to sue us the second she's sober, is she?”

            Stiles shook his head. His aunt didn't seem the litigious type. She'd just shoot whoever made that alcohol. From the smell alone Stiles could tell it was poison.

            “Alright,” said the bartender. “You okay kid? You want me to call your Mom or something?”

            Stiles looked at the woman sat next to him. Her hair had half fallen from her usual austere ponytail. Even drunk to the point of falling over, they looked so alike.

            “Nah,” he said. “It's better to look after her when she gets like this. She'll just drink until she can't hold the glass then I'll take her home.”

            Though he'd never seen her get like this before, Stiles knew that would be the case. He'd seen how he'd leave the second he walked in. The bartender nodded sadly, feeling bad for this kid who had to chase after some random old drunk.

            “So we're here,” he said when the bartender handed him his coke. “What vital information did you have to tell me? Like why you’re drinking your way through your liver at four in the afternoon.”

            She slammed the shot glass down on the table with a heavy thump.

            “Because Peter Hale is a fucking, shitty, shit heady cunt weasel, that's why.”

            That was not the answer Stiles was expecting.

            “Peter? Oh my god, I knew you'd slept with him. Please, please, tell me you didn't sleep with him.”

            “Ha!” she laughed. “No. That would be too simple for that little mind fucker. Hey Stiles, do yourself a favour. Never, ever Look into your own relationships. Not even a little. Because that's how you do stupid, stupid things, like sleep with Peter fucking Hale. Or rather, it's how you make an ass out of yourself _not_ sleeping with Peter fucking Hale. He calls you up, because you saw each other again. How long has it been? Didn't we have a good time? And you think, yeah we did, but I broke it off because you were a manipulative little DICK SHIT. But it's been a while and god knows you need a good fucking and he possibly was some of the best sex of your life. You look ahead a little, because hey who wouldn't? You try to see what's going to happen, should I wear my good underwear and you see the two of you getting all close and personal. Then you get over there, ready for a few rounds of the horizontal tango, but no. He just leads you on and leads you on and then, and this, this is the best part, he tells you 'It's the chase my dear. What's the point of having the venison when you didn't stalk the stag yourself'. What am I? A fucking steak?”

            Stiles was green. He was pretty sure that he must have actually turned green right now. He swallowed down the bile and waited until he didn't think opening his mouth would be immediately followed by him throwing up all over the bar.

            “Thank you for that array of mental images I will never be free of Aunt Angela. Really appreciate it. Telling that story in second person, that... that really helped bring it alive. That was special.”

            He took a sip of his coke as Angela drained down another shot.

            “It's like you and the other one. You want one thing, and he wants another and it all goes to shit because they're fucking incapable of talking like a normal human being. Peter just gets in your head and plays with it because he's an asshole. Der... well I don't know 'im too well but I think that one just doesn't talk at all. Am I right?”

            Stiles nodded, scoping round. Angela was talking very loudly and it was a small bar. People were watching. Luckily none of them seemed to be devoting too much attention to the conversation.

            “His Mom was the same. I only met her when I was sixteen and they were staying at The White Lodge for the summer. Awesome place. All the superna- you know what's head up there, do whatever and no one cares. I'll take you there one day. Anyway, she was always hanging out with your Mom and flirting with Frank, Derek's Dad but before, you know, he was. She being Talia, Derek's Mom. She didn't like me because I was off having sex with Peter and she disapproved but did she say anything? Did she fuck. She just glared at me with her stupid freaky eyes and brooded.”

            “That's a family thing? The brooding,” Stiles asked. “I always thought it was a 'my family was burned alive' thing.”

            “Think of it as a natural tendency exacerbated by extreme trauma. How about that? The worst part was that she was right to disapprove, because all he did was dick me around all summer and then fuck off. Luckily I'm the resilient, modern woman type. Screw him. Joke's on him anyway, because all the while we were going on I was sleeping with his sister!”

            Stiles spat his coke out all over the bar. When he recovered from choking long enough he turned on her.

            “You did what!”

            “I. Had. Sex. With. His. Sis-ter.”

            Stiles grimaced and clung onto the bar. If people hadn't really been paying attention before they were now. The bartender was looking at Stiles with pity.

            “So that would be Derek's aunt. Because Derek's Mom is Peter's sister _-in-law_. Please tell me that's right and you didn't sleep with Derek's Mom.”

          “God no. I'd never sleep with that sanctimonious bitch. I was screwing Ella. The runt who lives in New York.”

            It took Stiles a moment to process that.

            “Runt. What the hell does that... Wait. Lives. As in present tense.”

            “Yeah. What, two kids lose their entire family and you think they just let them run off into the hills? No, social services sent them to live with their only living, non-vegetative relative. Jesus, do you not talk to Derek about anything? Didn't you ever ask?”

            Stiles didn't answer that. No he hadn't. Not once.

            Luckily Stiles was spared any further embarrassment by Angela reaching out for the shot glass as it skittered away from her. Grabbing for it she lost her seat on the chair and slid sideways onto the floor, clinging onto the stool for dear life.

            “And we are done here,” Stiles said.

            He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet as the twanging guitar chords of a new song came on the jukebox. Angela snapped upright, suddenly in complete control of her limbs.

            “I must dance,” she announced.

            Before he could stop her Angela had clambered on top of the bar, her arms thrown out, dancing along to the music. Sweeping her hand back she took out her hair tie and shook her locks loose, running her hands through them as she sang along.

            “ _You're a real tough cookie with a long history, of breaking little hearts like the one in me_.”

            She kicked her legs as she stalked along the bar, caressing the face of a man sat there staring at her in wonder.

            “Angela. Angela, get down!” Stiles hissed but she just put a foot on his shoulder and pushed him away.

            “ _Hit me with your best shot! Go on and hit me with your best shot._ ”

            Others were coming up to the bar to watch. She grabbed some guy by the tie, hauling him in to sing into his face before pushing him away and standing up on the bar.

            “Is she for real,” the bartender asked. He seemed caught between amusement at the drunken middle aged woman dancing on his bar and concern over losing his job. “Usually her kind come in, get hammered and then go home with some sleezeball. This is a first.”

            “Just help me get her down before she breaks something. Like a leg,” Stiles implored, but the fast assembling crowd disagreed, especially when she took off her shirt and spun it over her head.

            “ _You come on with your come ons. You don't fight fair.”_

            Stiles could do nothing but watch as she flirted with every man at the bar, even grabbing one of the woman and kissing her hard on the mouth. That made every one cheer even louder. At some point she ended up lying on the bar, legs up in the air, before kicking herself up in a way a person that inebriated should be incapable of doing. The most disturbing part was when she pointed at Stiles, swaying her hips and winking.

            _“Better make sure you put me in my place!”_

            Eventually she came to the last, long held out ' _Fire AWAY!'_ falling backwards off of the bar into the arms of her awaiting public. They cheered and catcalled until Stiles muscled his way through and dragged her back to his Jeep.

 

*****

 

            When he finally got her back to his house she was passed out cold. It took both him and his Dad to carry her onto the couch. She was snoring like a bear in the middle of winter.

            “I am beginning to understand why your Mom didn't want you to know your family,” said his Dad.

            Stiles looked down at the woman laid out on the sofa. She was closed off, cold and infuriated Stiles at every turn but he was beginning to understand why someone might be that way. She'd opened her heart to someone and they'd used it as their play thing, no wonder she wasn't about to do it again anytime soon.

            He had a sudden flash of himself, sitting in a bar thirty years from now downing bottles of wine and screaming about that bastard Derek Hale, leading him on again. For the life of him he couldn't work out if it was a premonition or just his own imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song with Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar for those of you that don't know. Listen to it here -> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5kisPBwZOM
> 
> EDIT - Changed Derek's Mom's name to fit with cannon


	19. Wolf Whistle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has forgotten something very, very important.

            Angela staggered into the kitchen the next morning while they were having breakfast. The smell of cooking bacon made her gag.

            “Bathroom?”

            “Upstairs. I put your hold all in the hallway,” said Stiles. “Seems you thought to bring a change of clothes even if you left your dignity behind.”

            “He who fails to plan,” she chimed staggering down the hall.

            “I can't believe she dragged you into her alcoholism” his Dad said. Sheriff Stilinski was less than pleased by his wife's sister's antics.

           “She didn't Dad,” Stiles told him again. “Her partner asked me to check up on her. What was I supposed to do? Leave her there to choke on her own vomit.”

            He'd neglected to mention the trip to the bar. Seeing how pissed his Dad was at Angela over just calling Stiles to pick her up Stiles dreaded to think what would happen if he knew about the table dancing escapade. As pissed as Stiles was at her over the whole Derek thing she was family. He didn't want his Dad to shoot her just yet.

            “You did the right thing Stiles, I'm not angry at you,” he said. “She shouldn't have put you in that position. You're sixteen for Christ sake.”

            Stiles ate his toast. He'd sat up last night thinking about some of the stuff she'd been saying. It was hard to be mad at her when he realised the only reason he wasn't in that bottle of wine with her was the fact that he was sixteen. If he'd been old enough he'd have probably gone through a dozen bottles of Jack by now over the mess that was him and Derek. How could he spite her the same need over her own mess with Peter, no matter how creepy and wrong he found the situation.

            When his aunt came downstairs, showered and re-dressed she was looking much more human but still a little green around the edges.

            “Toast?” the Sheriff asked. She nodded and bit into it, nibbling like a rabbit and chewing each mouth carefully.

            “Litt... Stiles. Would you mind giving me a lift into your school? Manuel and I have some business we need to sort out there.”

            “Sure,” said Stiles.

            His father pulled a face at him, but he shrugged. What was he supposed to say?

 

*****

 

            They hadn't been driving long when Angela apologised.

            “So, I’m an ass,” she said.

            Close enough.

            “Yup. That you are.”

            “Sorry for dragging you into my shit.”

            “No. Don't worry about it. It was actually a little liberating to see that you have, you know, emotions and feelings. You screw up some times. This is very comforting to someone who screws up all of the time.”

            She shook her head. The window was down so she could breathe in fresh air, her damp hair fluttering in the draft.

            “Stop doing yourself down. You get put in some pretty impossible situations and you do better than most people would do.”

            He thought about Derek. He always did. An impossible situation. That was him and Derek. Part of him wanted to run away and never look back; the other half was straining towards him, unable to let go.

            “It gets better,” said his aunt. “The relationship stuff. I may not be the best case study but... it's why you have stupid relationships while you're young. Learn from your mistakes now, rather than make them when you're older and the stakes are higher. Don't ignore the pain and the sorrow though. Ignoring it only makes it worse. Take some time to wallow, feel it all and then move on.”

            There were times that Stiles thought Derek had been a mistake. There were other times he thought that Derek was an inevitability, a constant he would forever be drawn towards. He could run away to the other side of the world and somehow Derek would find him there without either of them meaning to. It was stifling.

            “Thanks,” he said eventually. “For not just saying 'you're young, one day you'll look back on this and laugh' like most people do.”

            She sighed heavily, the weight a many years told in that sound.

            “You are young and one day you might very well look back on this and think how stupid it all was and what a foolish kid you were, but that doesn't stop it from sucking any less right now.”

            Stiles could tell that she knew the pain of a misplaced passion in her youth as well as he did. He smiled one of his lopsided smiles at her and she returned it with one of her own before sliding on her sunglasses and leaning against the window. She still looked a little queasy.

            “So,” he announced. “How much _do_ you remember about last night?”

            She cringed into her seat.

            “Oh god, why do I get the feeling I'm about to find out how much I don't?”

 

*****

 

            “Where are we going?” Stiles asked Lydia as she led him by the hand towards a classroom. It would be empty, everyone was at lunch. He felt his chest constricting. Hadn't they agreed not to rush things? Empty class rooms in lunch break seemed like rushing things. He was supposed to be taking time to feel his pain and sorrow.

            She pushed him in. It was one of the labs in the middle of the building that didn't have any windows and the lights were off. He could feel the panic begin to rise.

            “Uh, Lydia don't you thi-”

            “SURPRISE!”

            He jumped at least three feet into the air as the lights flicked on. Allison, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Lydia were stood around him, holding a cake that Isaac was frantically trying to light the candles on.

            “Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Stiles. Happy birthday to you.”

            Stiles stared at them in shock as they started to cheer and held the cake towards him. No. This wasn't possible. He could not possibly, no matter what the emergency, have forgotten his own birthday.

            He scrabbled for the phone in his pocket to check the date. They must have got it wrong. Mustn't they?

            “It's the 20th,” said Scott. “Just because you can't keep track doesn't mean that we can't.”

            “How did I forget?” said Stiles. Time had gone rogue. It had skipped a week somewhere, only explanation.

            “Worry later. Blow out the goddamn candles!” said Isaac.

            Stiles obliged and they all cheered.

            “I thought you might not have realised what with... everything,” said Scott. His gave a meaningful nod to Allison and Lydia. They didn't know about Derek. “You know, your aunt and stuff. You usually go on and on about it for like a week before hand and if forgetting someone else's birthday is bad, forgetting your own is downright wrong.”

            Stiles looked at his friends. Most of them had been thrown together by fate a little bit, but they were definitely his friends.

            “Thanks guys,”

            “Oh. Presents!” said Lydia happily. She reached behind her and gave Stiles the most beautifully wrapped gift he had ever seen. “This one is from me. I thought long and hard about it, bought a whole bunch of stuff, most of which I still have to return. No flat screen though.”

            Stiles laughed. The others looked perplexed.

            He opened it up to find a t-shirt bearing the legend 'The National Sarcasm Society: Like we need your support'.

            “Awesome! Thanks.” He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her.

            Erica and Boyd had bought him a hard hat in case he decided to go rolling around in the woods any time soon. Isaac gave him a book that was just pictures of bad haircuts, because apparently the buzz cut was on page 27. This was his way of repaying him for Danny, apparently. Allison got him a really nice penknife.

            “This one's not coated in green vomit poison,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “but I'd still rather you didn't use it on me any time soon.”

            He opened Scott's last: a copy of _Dead or Alive 3_.

            “Oh my god,” Stiles said holding it up. “I remember this. We got hold of this when I was like eight.”

            “Seven. My Mom found us playing it and went nuts. Seven year old boys should not be playing games where they try to beat the crap out of each other apparently. I figured it would be like a training video now.”

            “Thanks guys. This really means a lot,” said Stiles. He pulled them all into a group hug.

            The door of the classroom swung open and Stiles was suddenly very aware that he was stood there with a shiny new knife in his hand when there was a blanket ban in school. He was relieved to see that it was Angela who stepped in. She closed the door behind her, locking it, looked out the window in the door shiftily and pulled the blind down.

            “Is there something we should be worried about?” he asked. He really didn't want to have to deal with the faeries just that second.

            “Nope. Just being double sure. Looks like I arrived just in time. Happy Birthday, Little Red.”

            She swung her hold all onto the table. It made a slight clinking noise as it hit.

            “You're still here? Are you going to be here all day?” asked Stiles, trying his best to make it sound light. He just wanted her gone.

            Her shoulders sagged.

            “I'm going to be here all week. Anyone who tested positive for faery we have to talk to, work out if it's in their future to become werewolf chow. The joys of the job. But my career woes are not what I am here to talk about. The job does come with some perks, such as remembering to pack your nephew's Birthday present when you're too drunk to stand.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a small present wrapped in red paper and tied with a white ribbon.

            Stiles tore it open and stared at the box.

            “You got me jewellery?”

            “Just open it, boy,” she said.

            He snapped the lid open and found two things. One was a thick steel chain with a pendant on it. It was the same symbol he'd seen throughout the books the Council had sent him.

            “That's from your Grandma and pa. It's the talisman of the White Order. It's a sign of who you are when you’re not wearing the coat of office. I got one too, see.”

            She held it out from her neck, pendant dangling next to a long silver tube. Back in the box, Stiles found his own. He levered it out to get a closer look.

            “That one's from me. No mystical power. Just damn useful.”

            “A whistle?”

            She put her own whistle into her mouth and gave it one short, sharp blast. At first Stiles heard nothing, then all four werewolves yelled, cramming their fingers to their ears.

            “A wolf whistle,” she said, waggling it between her teeth.

            Stiles put the long chain around his neck, feeling the cold weight of the metal next to his skin. Angela returned to the bag, giving one last look back at the door.

            “And these are from your uncle Kieran. He made them himself, just for you.”

            She put two bottles on the table, both with white labels on them. One contained an amber liquid and carried the title 'Wishing Whiskey'. The other was dark purple in colour and bore the name 'Wolf Whiskey'.

            “I like my uncle Kieron already!”

            “Ha. You won't be saying that the morning after. The Wishing Whiskey is for you, called so because it leaves you wishing for death the next morning if you're not careful. The Wolf Whiskey is for them.”

            She pointed at the werewolves who were glaring at her, trying to work out if it would be considered bad form to slaughter their best friend's aunt.

            “I thought werewolves couldn't get drunk?” said Allison. “That's what Scott told me anyway.”

            “Normally they can't but my brother has a talent with liquor. He does some infusion thing with a weak form of wolf's bane and ages it in casks made of mountain ash or something. I don't know. It's just like regular booze to a wolf, but it'll make you the rest of us pretty darn sick if we tried it.”

            “I thought you were supposed to discourage us from underage drinking?” said Lydia.

            “And where would the fun in that be?” said Angela. She put the bottles back in the bag. “However, I will go stash these in your car so that you don't get caught with them and you lot can have a real party with my dear ol' nephew tonight. How's that sound?”

            Stiles' friends looked at each other, trying to work out if that was a trick.

            “Don't worry,” said the birthday boy. “I'll make sure they come out.”

            “Excellent. Just be sensible. It is a school night after all and if I hear about any of you dancing on bartops to Pat Benatar I am going to have to call your parents. If your parents catch you then I was never here.”

            Stiles couldn't stifle his laugh as she went to the door, checking the coast was clear before walking off towards the parking lot with no more than a swoosh of her long black coat. Despite all the business with Derek and her refusal to mentor him, Stiles was beginning to see the woman behind the black.

            “I think I like your aunt,” said Erica.

            “You know what, I think I'm beginning to as well,” said Stiles.


	20. Letters from London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's remembered it's his Birthday Stiles plans to get drunk. Very drunk.

Danny was the one to drive Stiles’ Jeep back to his house. As soon as he saw the home brew that Stiles pulled out of the back of his car, cooked up by some mysterious uncle he'd never met and that one of them was _purple,_ Danny decided to designate himself the driver _._

            Scott and Allison had disappeared into the darkness of her car once they'd had a few shots. They were still up there now, oblivious to the fact that everyone had left. Probably just as well. Neither was in a fit state to drive at that point.

            Erica and Boyd hadn't had that much decorum, instead opting to just go at each other by the fireside after a few shots of the purple stuff. The others had started to throw things at them until Boyd had snapped, so they all decided to go play manhunt in the bushes. This quickly turned into an adult version of kiss chase when Isaac grabbed Stiles and pushed him up against a tree thinking he was Danny. Lydia had decided this called for retribution and proceeded to grab Danny and tried to kiss his face off. At some point both Stiles and Isaac had joined in to help hold him down. This was the point that Danny decided it was time to go home.

            Erica and Boyd had already disappeared and they managed to convince Danny that the pair had taken a lift off of someone and that they weren't going to die of exposure. They were going to have to tell everything to that boy one day. Danny was going to work it all out, might as well avoid the whole 'you lied to me!' fiasco with Isaac.

            Lydia was the first drop off, sneaking in through the back door. Isaac took a little longer as he and Danny had to have a long conversation with lots of arm waving on the porch. Danny looked pissed for most of it but Isaac pulled out his best hurt puppy face and they ended with a deep, passionate kiss so it couldn't have gone too badly. Danny dropped off both Stiles' Jeep, and Stiles, in front of his house.

            “You _hic_ going to get home okay?” Stiles asked.

            “I'll be fine. I only actually live a few blocks away,” said Danny as he helped Stiles to the doorway. “Are you?”

            “I'll be fiiiiiiiiiine. You, Danny, are a classy, classy gay... I mean guy. Ha. Freudian. But seriously. Seriously. I mean it. You and Isaac, that's like... amazing, you know. Wow. I'm so freaking happy for you.”

            “Yeah, well wouldn't have happened without you,” Danny said flatly. “I don't suppose he tells you where he runs off to at all hours of the night, does he?”

            “Sure,” said Stiles. “He's off with Beefcake McSexyWolf.”

            Stiles laughed at the fabulousness of his own joke and slid down the side of the house. Danny stared at him for a second, trying to work out if this was drunk Stiles talk. He looked through the window into Stiles' house.

            “Looks like your Dad's home,” said Danny. “You better try and at least look sober if you don't want to be grounded for the next forever.”

            The warning did a lot to help the sobering process. Stiles struggled upright, straightening himself up. He did a quick check on his breath, only to find it made him gag. Danny offered him a Tic-Tac. Stiles grabbed the box and crunched down a handful.

            “Good luck,” said the goalie before trudging off back to his own house.

            Stiles looked at his watch. Then he looked again. Then he squinted as he held it up to his face, trying to discern the time, gave up and checked his phone instead. 11pm. Late but not criminally so.

            He unlocked the door and stepped inside, taking great care not to stumble on the sill. The corridor was tilting this way and that in front of him, which would have been fine normally except that he seemed to have lost control of his Sight. Snatches of him and his Dad going about their lives bulged in front of his eyes and then faded away again. He scrunched up his eyes and focused on the sick feeling in his gut. It was a feeling unlike any he'd had before and one he would try everything in his power to avoid again, so it did a good job of anchoring him in the present.

            Werewolves weren't the only ones who needed anchors it seemed. Stupid sexy werewolves with great asses and ridiculous muscles. Jesus Christ he hoped he wasn't too drunk to jerk off. All the running through the woods and his hot, if short and mistaken, make out session with Isaac had got his blood right up.

            His Dad stepped into the corridor, evaporating all thoughts about his nether regions in an instant. He was smiling.

            “Have a good birthday son?”

            “I did indeed father,” Stiles said standing up poker straight. Not leaning against the wall definitely not leaning against the wall. “We had a wonderful time and now I shall retire to my bedroom for the night.”

            His father gave him a hard look.

            “Retire to the bedroom? You do that. Your mail is on your desk.”

            His Dad continued to watch his son's slow, careful progress up the stairs. Stiles had never walked up these stairs with such precision in his life, each step landing exactly in the centre of each stair, his foot never catching on the edge.

            The second he made it to his room he remembered to breathe properly and collapsed into his chair. It rolled half way across the room and the spinning nearly made him hurl right then and there. He controlled his stomach and instead set himself up by his desk where a collection of envelopes was waiting for them. When he opened them he found that most were from relatives on his Dad's side of the family, most of whom the only form of regular contact he had was a few bills stuck inside of Christmas and birthday cards. He found one and stopped for a second before opening. The stamp had caught his eye. It was gold with picture of an old lady in a fancy hat on it. After a moment he recognised it as the Queen of England.

            There was a knock at the door as his Dad walked in with a plate of toast and the biggest glass they had in the house, filled with water. Stiles sat bolt upright in the chair, surreptitiously holding on the desk for support.

            “Thought you might be hungry,” he said putting them down on the desk.

            “Thank you father,” said Stiles, trying not to slur. “I shall enjoy those greatly. Hey. Do we know anyone who lives in England?”

            He pointed down at the envelope, and his father shook his head.

            “Stamp says it's from London. Maybe it's from your Mom's side.”

           Stiles looked at the writing. It was fancy, cursive script like the one his Mom used for things like birthday cards.

            _Dear Stiles,_

_Happy 17 th Birthday_

_Hope you have a great day. Sorry we couldn't be there. We'll come visit as soon as we can._

_Love your Uncle Connor, Aunt Miranda, Cousins Harmony, Joshua and undecided._

There was a photo included of what he assumed was the family posing in front of their house. Connor had the same dark eyes as his Mom. A heavily pregnant Miranda was being distracted by two kids, somewhere around the age eight to ten bracket. Harmony was hugging a husky as big as she was and Joshua was just being an eight to ten year old kid and pulling a silly face.

            “Uncle Connor...” said his Dad. He sounded like he was racking his brain, probably trying to conjure up any time he'd heard his wife say the name Connor in all their years together.

            Stiles propped the photo up on his shelf next to one of his Mom.

            The next card bore a cartoon of two members of the KKK holding up a box of Daz, 'for when you need your whites _really_ white'. Stiles laughed. His father looked concerned. It was from Deaton and Morelle.

            His Dad dropped something onto the desk with a heavy thud.

            “Here's my present. Sorry I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

            Stiles tore off the wrapping paper. It was a book: _Myths and Legends of Ireland._ On the cover a stylised dragon was wound around celtic patterns.

“You've been going through all your Mom's old books a lot lately and what with your grandparents I thought you might like it.”

            Stiles flicked open to a random page and one of the first words to catch his eye was 'the fair folk'.

            “Thanks Dad. This is more perfect than you could possibly imagine.”

            His Dad looked down at the one remaining letter and patted his son heavily on the shoulder. Stiles recognised the writing as his father's.

            “Eat the toast before you start on that one,” he said and left the room.

            Stiles immediately started cramming the now cold toast into his face. He then drank half the glass of water in one long, continuous gulp, before returning to the letter. It was heavier than the others and thicker. He tore it open and pulled out a card with a wolf howling at a full moon and a few sheets of note paper fell out onto the desk.

            He opened the card but it wasn't his Dad's scrawl that was there. It was his mother's cursive script.

            He'd forgotten about this or he would have rushed home from school to read it. On his fifteenth birthday, his first after his mother had died, he'd spent half an hour crying over the card she'd written and his father had put in the mail. There had been a long letter, telling him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. Every Birthday and Christmas since, another one had arrived. There had even been a letter for when he graduated from middle school. His Dad sent off every one in the mail and never, ever asked to look at a single word.

            He looked at the inscription on the card. A simple _Happy Birthday Stiles, Love Mom._

The letter stared up at him. He picked it up and began to read.

            _My dearest son,_

_If I've got this right it should have only been a few months since we last talked out on the preserve when you saved young Derek Hale's life._

Stiles stopped and read the sentence again. No. He'd read it right. His Mom was taking about things that had happened two years after she had died. His hands were shaking as he read on.

            _No you really did read that right. You can stop shaking. Just because I handed back the coat doesn't mean I left the power behind. Congratulations by the way. You will make a great Council member and I'm not just saying that because I'm your Mom. I've seen it. There's the usual hazy not-sure-what-will-happen-and-what-could-happen thing but I can see that much. So stop worrying about it, silly billy._

_I could spend this entire letter saying I'm sorry, that I should have told you, but I think you understand now. If you don't, you will. And I am sorry. I will always be sorry, where ever I am now. Instead what I really want to talk to you about is a little situation between you, a werewolf and the girl who you started talking about when you came back from your first day of the third grade!_

_I don't know exactly what kind of situation you've got yourself into now, but I can tell it's causing you a lot of grief. Your head tells you one thing, while your heart tells you another. The real problem is that you can't tell which one is your heart and which one is your head in the first place! Either way it won't work when the two are in disagreement. Love with your head and one day the passion will come from another place and you will be lost to it. Love with your heart and you will wake up one day to find that the fire has burned and you are left with nothing. If you cannot love with both, then love with neither. It is hard, and it may hurt at first, but in the end you'll find it is for the best._

_Whatever you do, do it with honour and a clear conscience. Making the right decision by yourself is, 9 times out of 10, the right decision for everyone when romance is involved. Never feel guilty for freeing yourself from someone who is hurting you, even if they don't mean it._

_Ignore the claws. Cut the rope._

_All my love in the world,_

_Your mother_

_P.S. Never EVER drink anything your uncle Kieran gives you on a school night again. **I mean it!**_

Stiles read it three times before he placed it down on the table. His head was swimming. His mother knew about Derek _and_ Lydia. She had done before she died. He read her advice again, words he knew to be true but couldn't make sense of until he'd seen them written down like that. His head loved Lydia. His heart, to give it a polite name, wanted Derek. Because of that, he couldn't have either. He'd worked that out by himself, but here was his mother, giving him permission to feel that way. Telling him that it was all alright.

            He read it again, fingers trailing over her apologies and advice. He ran over and over those last six words that seemed so out of place. What was she saying? Ignore Derek and Lydia was tying him down with her own problems? What it something else entirely? Every time he read the final post script it made him smile. Even from beyond the grave his mother was telling him off, being his Mom.

            His eyes began to droop against his will. He was still pretty drunk and his alarm would be going off in six hours. He gave the letter one last read through, but was asleep before he reached halfway.


	21. Training Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a training day with his aunt, but it ends up being rather different to what he imagined.

             _Smack!_

            “Oh my god!” Stiles cried. That one had hit him square in his formerly broken rib. “You did that one on purpose.”

            “And I'll do the next one on purpose too if you don't stop looking and start Seeing,” Angela said, readying the next lacrosse ball she was going to hurl at his head.

            It was all about the capitilisation with this power, Stiles was fast beginning to realise. Seeing versus seeing. The difference between what your eyes told you was happening and what the power told him might happen. Trying to marry the two in his head was proving to be a real dilemma. He was trying to call on the power within him, trying to look for it on command, but it was evading him at every turn. This time he closed his eyes as Angela loosed the ball but that only shut out what little actual sight he was getting as well and the ball thumped straight into his leg.

            She'd called earlier in the day, telling him to come to the lacrosse field for training. He figured it was paying him back for helping her out when she'd been drunk enough to dance on table tops. This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't the first time someone had been pelted with lacrosse balls for the sake of learning some control. The only difference was that this time he was the one getting pelted.

            “I think you are actually getting worse,” she said casually.

            “Are you always this calm or is it just with me?” Stiles asked. As usual her flatness was beginning to grate on Stiles' nerves. “Or is it a council thing. Will I be Mr Roboto one day?”

            “Nope,” she said readying the next throw. “Just how I am. It's how I got my name. Angela. Angel like. Calm and serene on the surface, but with a wrathful fury that will raze cities. Fair in judgement and ruthless in execution.”

            Stiles shivered. With the exception of the night she'd gotten drunk that was Angela exactly. Another ball grazed against his shoulder.

            “But your parent's named you when you were a baby. How could they know that? Oh. Of course. Your parents were on the Council. Of course they'd be able to tell what their children were like.”

            “Most of us have names that will somehow reflect our lives,” Angela said. “Even though our parents don't mean them to and sometimes you can't always tell how straight away. Like your Mom. Janella means 'God is Merciful'. She took the white, which some call the power of the Gods, and she spurned it. Yet somehow she managed to live her whole life without divine retribution. Pretty merciful if you ask me, I hear God is the jealous type. Connor, my brother, means 'fond of hounds' and he's married to a werewolf.”

            Stiles thought to the photo on his dresser. Both Connor's wife and the two kids had been avoiding looking at the camera. Now he understood why.

            “And the other one. Kieran.”

            The one who got me so drunk I thought I was going to die the next morning. His Dad had woken him up by playing a saucepan with a spoon above his head. It was a better lesson about the evils of drinks than a thousand lectures and groundings combined.

            Angela's eyes clouded as she pulled back the next throw.

            “Kieran means 'the dark one'. Never a name more apt.” Her face softened as she went to get the next ball. “I never got why my sister called you Stiles though. What does that even mean? 'Steep' or 'ascending'. Maybe you were meant for greatness, I don't know.”

            “It's not my real name,” said Stiles.

            “It's not?”

            “No. She named me after her Dad. Your Dad too, I suppose.”

            She dropped the stick for a moment letting out a long drawn out _Oh_.

            “Yeah,” she said. “That makes much more sense. Where did Stiles come from?”

            “At school no one could pronounce my weird ass name. They started picking on me pretty bad because of it and I couldn't deflect it all with my witty reparte, so I chose Stiles.”

            She looked at him incredulously. With the stick in her hand she reminded him of Coach for a moment.

            “You _chose_ to call yourself Stiles Stilinski?”

            “Yeah. There was a movie with a character called Stiles. He was pretty much me and it had a nice ring to it, Stiles Stilinski, so I thought why not. Walked into school. Told the world I was called Stiles, refused to answer to anything else and that was that. Bending people to my will from an early age.”

            “You chose your name,” that fact seemed to perplex her. “Perhaps it might have some relevance as well. Two names predicting your fate. Lucky boy. Hmm. Just like I thought. You think too much.”

            That was something Stiles was rarely accused of.

            “What do you mean?”

            “It's a common problem with newbies. You concentrate so much on Looking you forget to See.”

            “Stop it with the cryptic mumbo jumbo and tell me what you are talking about.”

            Angela sighed and carried on cradling the ball she'd been about to throw.

            “When we were having that lovely little conversation you were distracted and not paying attention so you weren’t actively trying to avoid getting hit. You dodged all eleven balls that I threw at you. One time you even did a kind of half back flip thing and you have no idea that you did it. But now that I've said that if I throw this at you...”

            The ball hit Stiles in the hip, far too close to a very, _very_ sensitive area for his liking.

            “Oh my god! Why did you tell me anything if you’re just going to pummel me?”

            “Because otherwise how will you learn, Stiles? Pain is an excellent motivator.”

            Stiles jerked up at her. Peter had told him the exact same thing in a training session months ago when his powers had just been emerging. Did she know that? Had the two of them trained together once upon a time and Camp FreakyWeird for the Supernaturally Inclined?

            “You look. You need to See. Stop looking at the ball. See the whole field.”

            Stiles nodded. He tried to not exactly ignore the ball but look at it as one element of this little corner of the universe. The grass under his feet, the movement of Angela as she ran across it, the air dancing in the floodlights that bathed the pitch. This time when she started throwing balls at him he was perfectly aware of the neat little spins he was doing to get out of the way of each and every lacrosse ball.

            When her supply of ammunition had been exhausted Angela let the stick drop to her waist.

            “Now you’re getting it!” she said. Stiles detected a hint of her being impressed. “On to stage two.”

            Stiles was halfway through wondering what stage two was when he felt his knee kick out sideways, lowering his body to the ground. As he'd fallen he'd been gifted a vision of his chest bursting with blood as he fell, already dead. A bullet zipped through the air right through the spot where his heart had been.

            Angela was shooting at him.

            “WHAT THE FUCK DUDE!” he screamed.

            “Now, Stiles. Less of that. What would your mother say?”

            “’Why the hell is my sister shooting at my son’ is what she'd say!”

            Angela waved her hand in dismissal. Stiles eyes never left the barrel of the gun.

            “It'll be fine Stiles, don't worry. I checked.” She tapped the barrel against her temple, flagrantly violating 101 gun safety rules. “You'll be fine and the bullets are all just ordinary bullets in case any werewolves happen to be eavesdropping on us from the woods and get hit by a stray one.”

            “Wha'?”

            “Nothing,” she said quickly firing at him again, obliterating any thought other than his immediate survival from his head.

            Within a minute she'd emptied the clip. Nothing was bleeding. Nothing was hurting beyond the dull ache of the previous bruises. He was fine.

            “Did I just dodge a speeding bullet.”

            “No. You dodged twenty. Well done.”

            She replaced the clip in her gun but re-holstered it, much to Stiles relief.

            “And I actually dodged them. You weren't missing to make me feel better about myself?”

            “Doing that would be highly counterproductive. I'm a crack shot. If you hadn't dodged one of those you would have been dead before you even hit the ground.”

            As creepy and wrong as that was, Stiles had never felt more proud of himself. He threw his hands up in the air in triumph as Angela began to tidy up.

            “I think that's enough for today,” she said. She threw Stiles' lacrosse stick back in the trunk of his car.

           “I am a dodge master,” Stiles said. He was swooping and bending, avoiding a cavalcade of imagined projectiles. He jumped when a ball smacked him in the ass.

            “I'd hardly say master,” said Angela. “And be careful. We're kind of like werewolves; we work best in a pack. It's a trait they picked up from us, actually. Single, we are weak. We don't really have anything beyond what you've seen. Foresight and we can unlock seeing the Web in others, like I did in you. If we want something badly enough, if we desire it with everything that we are, then sometimes it’s enough to shift the paths of fate. If there are two or three of us, we can do the same but only if our want is great enough.”

            “You must really have wanted that bottle of tequila,” said Stiles.

            Angela went stiff.

            “Come again?”

            “That night at the bar. You grabbed the bartender and kind of compelled him to let me stay and to give you a bottle of tequila or whiskey or whatever that poison was. His eyes went all black. I think the hundred dollars helped though.”

            “That's were that went,” she said, like she'd misplaced a pair of shoes rather than a hundred bucks. “Don't tell anyone I did that. It's not exactly forbidden just...”

            “Frowned upon?” Stiles finished.

            “Most definitely.” She went back to collecting up the scattered balls. “When the Order gets together though, hundreds of us in one place, that's when we can do great things. We feed on each other's power and it grows exponentially. When we're together, all in one mind, we can change the course of time on a whim, raise nations and destroy them-”

            “And create werewolves?”

            An image was delivered into Stiles' mind, clear as if he was standing there himself. A hundred men and women in rough spun wool cloaks, all bleached to a brilliant white, gathered around a man and a wolf bound together with silver chains. They poured out their will together and the two were blended in spirit for the rest of time.

            He came back to the present and looked up at Angela. She smiled knowingly.

            “And create werewolves,” she said.

            “So... what is it that the Order does these days?” he asked. “I can't tell what's Sentinel stuff and what's Weiss Rat stuff.”

            She sighed and sat down.

            “If it's small or boring then the Sentinels do it. Ordinary jobs with a supernatural twist. Sometimes that's cooking up special potions and lotions and growing plants. Others run clinics for when a witch turns you into a newt, like Deaton used to before he decided to quasi retire. Mostly it's stuff like watching areas where there are werewolves and so on, reporting in to us. That's Morelle's job. Helping to smooth over any issues as long as they aren't too big. When the Council decides the situation has gotten out of control, we step in.”

            “What was it that pushed us over the edge finally?” Stiles asked. “Body count too high?”

            “The Argents. We've had an eye on them for a while. Most of the deaths that happened here were done according to the rules. Stupid ass, ancient rules, but rules none the less. Peter killed for revenge and advancement, well within the werewolf rulings.”

            “Why do I get the feeling you don't agree with what you’re saying?”

            Angela paused by the goal, weaving her fingers through the strings of the net.

            “It's situations like this that made the Argents split from the Sentinels and see where that got us? Where people were dying, but we couldn’t do anything to stop it because the ‘deserved it’, according to the rules. I know that if we jumped in and split up every werewolf tiff we'd end up losing their support. They'd stop living by their own crazy moral code and go feral. We'd have a hundred, a thousand innocent dead people on our hands instead of a few people who, in all fairness, had burned a house of children to the ground. It sucks, but we do what we do for a reason. Stuff like the kanima, that's where we jump in usually. It broke the rules, killing people who hadn't committed a murder. Luckily the local wolf pack jumped in to save the day before we had to.”

           Stiles looked at the ball in his hand. See the whole, not the detail. That was another Weiss Rat motto it seemed.

            “Angela. What is going on with the faeries? Are you just doing an audit on how many bastard offspring they've got wandering around the hills? Because it looks like it's more than that. Why won't you tell me anything?”

            He didn't mean it to sound as pathetic and whiny as it had but Angela still looked at him with pity.

            “Because and reasons,” she said. “Are you making any progress with the feral werewolf?”

            Stiles shook his head.

            “I keep looking but it's like there's no sign. I've had Scott and the others out checking to see if they can smell anything but it's just snatches here and there. Nothing they can follow. There hasn't been another killing and no one's gone missing.”

            “Let's try and keep it that way.” Angela drummed her fingers against her hip bones. “Do you still think it might be Jackson? You’re not just thinking it because your girlfriend told you so?”

            Stiles shrugged and looked at her.

            “It's the only lead I got. But it's more than that. I just... as soon as Lydia said, I got this gut feeling about it.”

            She bobbed her head slowly.

            “Follow it then,” she said. “Never ignore those instincts, no matter what an exasperated old woman might yell at you. They're usually right. Werewolves sometimes go rabid, but I've never heard of something quite like this happening before. If it is him he'll be laired up somewhere near here. Knowing who it is will make him easier to find.”

            “But how!” Stiles cried. “We've looked in all the places he used to hang out at and got nothing.”

            “It could be somewhere completely unrelated if he's gone completely mad. Remember when I said I could tell you how to find him, but I was worried you’d just go in and get yourself killed? I'm still worried about you getting killed, so don't try and take him down by yourself, but here's a trick. Blank out your mind and just start driving or walking. Put on loud music, sing along to it, concentrate on it, get lost in it and don't pay attention to where you are going. Let autopilot kick in. Let your power lead you to where you need to be.”

            “But if I'm blanking out my brain how do I know it will lead me to Jackson. How do I know it won't just lead me... elsewhere.”

            To Derek, he wanted to say. If he was where he wanted to be right now it would be in Derek's bed. The two of them would be curled up together, wrapped up in each other while the rest of the world went on without them.

            “Find a photo of Jackson,” said Angela. “Put it on the dash board of your car, but avoid looking directly at it. That's your focus. It'll make sure you find Jackson, not head off towards the person you were talking to five minutes ago.”

          “If it is Jackson,” he said slowly, “this is the second time he's started killing people. Against his will again but...”

            He trailed off. Angela knew what he meant. She spoke sadly.

            “You're beginning to think like one of us.”

            She looked sideways at him, something within her coming to a resolution. She began to walk towards the tree line, beckoning him to follow. When they got there she took a scrap of paper out of the pocket of her black jacket and stuck it on a broken branch. Walking back she pulled out her gun and held it towards him.

            “What's this?” Stiles asked, eyeing the gun suspiciously.

            Her shoulders sagged.

            “It's a small Bavarian Shrew dancing to La Cucaratcha. What does it look like?”

            “You're giving me a gun?” he said. His Dad never let him even touch his gun, with good reason. “You do realise the last time I held a projectile weapon I almost shot someone in the chest.”

            “Yes, I do. That's why I'm going to teach you how to use it.”

            She stepped around behind him, teaching him how to stand, how to hold it, how to sight the target. Fixing him in position she stood back. Taking his time to get the feel of it, he pulled the trigger. The recoil made his arms judder and ache but the rush of adrenaline was immense.

            “I just fired a gun!” he said, turning towards her. “Did you see that?”

            She pushed the barrel down out of her face and frowned at him.

            “What was rule four?”

            “Always watch where you point. Sorry.”

            She walked over to the target; the hole went through the paper but was off centre.

            “Good shot.” She walked back and put her hands firmly on his shoulder whispering into his ear as he raised the gun again. “Now this time I want you to focus. Look down the barrel. See the person you're about to shoot.”

            A black shadowy man came into his mind’s eye, his head perfectly squaring the target. Stiles started to put pressure on the trigger, knowing the bullet would hit dead centre this time but Angela began to talk again. Her voice was soft and low.

            “Imagine you are standing right beside them. The gun isn't a gun, it's a knife. You have to drive it into their chest yourself. You have to watch as the light goes out of their eyes. You have to listen to their last breath. Feel as all of those different possibilities, all those ifs, buts and maybes, feel every one go out as they die. All the beers they'll never get to drink, the birthday parties they won't have, the kid’s graduation they won't be around for.”

            Stiles hand was beginning to shake. His heart beat was thumping in his ears. It was just a target. A scrap of paper on a tree. It didn't have kids. It didn't drink beer. It wasn't alive.

            He felt the trigger spring back as he loosened his finger and lowered the gun, unfired. Angela stepped around him and took it out of his unresisting hands. She took the stance and raised the gun at the target. Taking a second, she fired, hitting the target dead centre. She lowered the gun.

            “This is a weapon, Stiles. It kills people. It's easy to forget that with something like this, cut off and removed from the action, and killing someone should never be easy. It should take every ounce of courage you have to pull that trigger. The moment it becomes easy to kill, you stop being human. Killing is ugly and it's brutal but sometimes it is necessary. If you pull that trigger you better be damn sure it is necessary because for most people there's no coming back. Death equals all. A dead man is a dead man. Do you understand what I'm saying Stiles?”

            He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rather strong views on gun control. Maybe it's because I'm British.


	22. Addicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes looking for Jackson and instead he finds Derek.

            If anyone was watching Stiles at that very moment they'd probably think he was a mad man. Walking through the woods in a long white coat singing along to _Highway to Hell_ , complete with stupidly high squeaky voice, as it came on his _Dad Music_ playlist through his earphones and not paying a blind bit of attention to where he was going. He'd abandoned his car in a lay by half an album ago and was currently just walking in whatever direction it was that his feet were taking him.

            He'd never thought he'd be able to blank out his mind. He was Stiles, for Christ sake. His mind was a cauldron of thoughts, ideas and vivid imagery. It never shut down, even when he slept. The second he'd put on his coat though, he'd felt a familiar sense of calm. It leached away all the excess noise, leaving only the task at hand on his mind. Soon even that fell behind a white veil as he walked for mile after mile.

            That was how he stumbled upon the lair. It was definitely a lair, no mistake about that. It was the smell that led him to the cave. More of a hollow really, a crag of rock that stuck out and that some long dead animal had burrowed out. Whatever was living there wasn't bothering to slip out for its toilet breaks. Crouching, he managed to take a good, but careful, look around. At first he thought it might be a bear after all. That's when he began to find the clothes. They were woven what must have been whatever lived there's nest.

            A Beacon Hills lacrosse jersey. Number 37.

            It wasn't until he was there with Jackson's jersey in front of him that Stiles realised he'd been praying he was wrong.

            Stiles unfocused his mind and let his eyes see the Web. An imprint of it stayed behind in the places where a person slept. Strands appeared, flickering and weak. All of them were mad and wild. Whatever lived here, whatever it was that Jackson had become, it was barely human any more. Stiles backed off out of the hovel and breathed in the fresh air of the wood.

            He knew the exact moment Derek scented him. It cemented the future so solidly that it leapt into Stiles head as if it was already happening. There was no way around it and Stiles wasn't entirely sure he wanted to avoid Derek this time. They hadn't seen each other since Angela had outed the pair of them. They needed to talk and, you know, actually talk so Stiles took a seat by the entrance to the lair and waited.

            Five minutes later Derek strolled up to him, creeping up from behind. Stiles waved without turning around.

            “Over here. Did you run the whole way?”

            Derek's silence answered for him. Stiles tilted his head sideways towards the cave.

            “You smell anything?”

            The werewolf walked into his peripheral vision but Stiles still refused to look. He watched as Derek took a deep sniff and gagged from the smell.

            “How long has it been dead in there?”

            “Not it. Just the rotting carcasses of its lunch and the processed remains of what had started as his lunch. Can you smell Jackson is what I was trying to get at.”

            Derek lowered his head and sniffed, carefully this time, wuffeling his nose like a dog. He was barely two feet away. Stiles could reach out and grab him if he wanted to. Which he did. This was why his hands were firmly shoved into his pockets.

            “Yeah. Jackson was here. I think so anyway. It smells more animal than he used to. You knew that already though, didn't you?”

            “Yup,” said Stiles. “Anyone else? Any _thing_ else?”

            Jumping down into the hole, Derek cast a werewolfy eye over the scene inside. He emerged after a minute and stood next to where Stiles was. Both of them were staring out into the distance. It was just his imagination, Stiles told himself. Derek couldn't be that hot. The warmness he felt down his right side was just his brain making him think that Derek was radiating some kind of gravitational field, drawing him in.

            “No.” Derek's voice had taken on that hoarse quality he got when they were in bed together, but he was holding back, trying to make the pleasure last as long as possible. Whatever might have happened between them out of bed, in it Derek had always given Stiles exactly what he wanted and needed. “It smells cold, like it hasn't been used in a day or so. He's moved on.”

            That curtailed that line of investigation then. It explained why the Web around the place was so weak. At least they wouldn't have to do a late night stake out stuck half way up a tree or anything.

            “I guess I'm going to have to tell Lydia she was right,” said Stiles.

            Derek huffed and sharply stalked away out of Stiles vision.

            “Can you not even hear her name without going all psycho-wolf on my ass?” Stiles implored to the sky. He finally faced Derek. He had to be careful with his anger. That was what usually led to his undoing when Derek was concerned. Relax, he told himself. You do this with honour and a clear conscience. Let him go.

            “Yeah,” said Derek. “I get it. You're with Lydia.”

            Stiles bit his tongue. Admitting that he and Lydia weren't exactly together right now would entail telling Derek why. He let Derek carry on.

            “Good for you. I'm glad you're happy.” Derek didn't sound like he was. “What I don't get is whyyou're with her,” Derek stepped in closer, trying to glower Stiles into submission, “when you obviously want me. I can smell it on you every time I see you.”

            Stiles looked at him. There was still a bit of him that wanted to throw himself at Derek and get swept up in him right there in the middle of the woods next to Jackson's abandoned lair. Mostly he just felt sad. For both of them.

            “Do you know Derek, we've never even kissed.”

            “We used to kiss all the time,” said Derek. “Every time we could.”

            “No, Derek. We had sex, or something close to it and it involved kissing. We never kissed and it just be kissing. Even when we couldn't do more because of my rib, you'd kiss me and we'd end up going at it until we had to stop. It was why you had to stay away from me, remember. We couldn't even kiss without wanting to go further.”

            Derek glared him in the eyes. Stiles didn't try to stop him when Derek walked over and kissed him. It was gentle and soft, a kiss unlike any they'd had before. When Derek tried to break if off, though, neither of them could bring themselves to be the one to step back. Their hands stayed clutching on to each other's clothes. Their noses rested against each other as they strained to back up and walk away, gently moving back and forth with the swell and fall of their chests.

            They broke together, pulling into another of their great crescendo kisses. Stiles tore at Derek's hair and it felt good, so freaking good, and right to be back there again. Derek's hands were on his waist pushing him backwards towards the rock.

            Stiles foot slipped and he tripped into the lair. The pain of landing sent a shock through his leg, straight back to his head. Breathing heavily he bit down on his lip and refused move for a moment. The moment of passion was broken. Derek helped him back up, keeping his body as far away as he could. Stiles had made his point.

            Stiles waited until he was sure that he could get the words out without his voice shaking.

            “You're right,” he said. He looked up into the hazel wonder of Derek's eyes. “I do want you. I dream about you every night. I think about you every time I jack off even though I don't want to, I don't even try to pretend any more. When I was making out with Lydia you kept coming back into my head. I'm not going to deny it, Derek. I do. I want you.

            “It's an obsession. An addiction. And I can't be with you if that's all it is. We have sex because I can't help it and then afterwards I feel empty inside, like someone has reached into me and literally ripped my guts out. It doesn't make me feel good any more. It makes me feel used. Do you know we have never actually slept together? Every time, after we're done you just put your pants on and you leave. You've never even kissed me afterwards. Do you know what that makes me feel like? Do you know what that does to me?”

            Derek's face had changed into something Stiles had only seen on a few occasions. Defeated.

            “I thought-” Derek had to stop and swallow. The words we sticking in his throat. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

            “Yeah well maybe it was,” said Stiles, “and it was fun at first but now it's not. I want more. I need more. I deserve more. And if that means that I can't ever be in the same room as you and be alone then... then I'll just have to stay away from the whole pack until I can.”

            Derek hung his head and turned away, a thoroughly beaten man.

            “Can I at least get a ride back to my house?” he asked. “It's pretty far from here and it's on the way into town. I promise not to jump you in the car.”

            Stiles kicked at the detritus with his foot. He wanted to say no, but the sight of Derek so forlorn melted his resolve.

            “Sure. I'm parked up on the lay by down by the main road if you want to run on ahead.”

            The idea of a half hour walk with a sullen ex was not Stiles idea of a good time, and Derek seemed to get the hint. The werewolf had barely taken two steps when he hesitated, reaching into his jacket pocket. He got something out, looking at it carefully before turning back to Stiles and throwing it at him. Stiles caught it; a small hard object wrapped up in white tissue and tied with a scrap of red ribbon.

            “Sorry I missed your birthday. I thought you might want to have this anyway.”

            Before Stiles could say anything Derek was running away on all fours. Stiles looked at the gift in his hand. He scrunched his hand around it and shoved in into his pocket. The sharp points of it dug into his hand for the next five minutes as he trudged on, trying to forget about it but finding it impossible to let go.

            He couldn't stand it. Pulling it out he stared at it and carefully undid Derek's sloppily tied bow. The wrapping fell open, and Stiles realised that it was actually a large tissue that Derek had used without any cellotape. It was torn from where Stiles had been crushing it in his hand. Nestled inside was a plastic figure of a black wolf, mid-howl. Its eyes had been painted red.

            Stiles could see Derek handing it to him in the morning as they woke up together. He'd unwrap it and the two of them would laugh at how stupid it was. But that wasn't real. That wasn't his Derek. His Derek didn't wake up to find a sleeping Stiles lying next to him on the bed. He just screwed him and left. That wasn't a Derek who gave him jokey little presents on his birthday. That wasn't even a Derek who remembered his birthday.

            There had been a moment during the alpha battle that Stiles kept remembering, between his mother's spirit fading and his aunt waking. Stiles had needed someone to hold him, and Derek had held him, whispering affirmations into his ear that it was going to be alright. He longed for Derek to be there with him in the woods now, and hold him once again because at that very second all the foresight in the world couldn't convince Stiles that his heart would ever be whole again.


	23. Material Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles drives Derek back to his house only to find someone else is already there.

            They didn't say a word the whole drive to Derek's house. Stiles just blasted bad music into the silence but it wouldn't have mattered if there were fireworks going off in the back of his Jeep. There was not a noise on this earth that would fill the silence between them.

            Stiles thought he would just drop Derek off at the turning off the main road but as soon as he reached it his car seemed to swing into the dirt track road of its own accord. When he reached the house he saw not only Derek's Camaro pulled up outside but a sleek black car with tinted windows. On the porch crouched Eoghan, hanging off of the pillar.

            “And so the prodigal returns with his boy is sway,” he said. Swinging round he pirouetted in the air and landed with perfect grace. “How was your little jaunt through the woods?”

            Derek went straight inside, ignoring both Stiles and the faery. Eoghan looked highly amused as he twisted his body around the pillar again. The... man seemed incapable of doing anything but oozing over whatever surface was nearby.

            “Delightful young fellow, that Hale. Nothing like his uncle, a man after me own heart if ever there was one. I can see the appeal mind. I can see it right through those tights that he calls trousers.”

            That was it. Stiles had only gotten out of the Jeep to see who the other car belonged to but if he was going to be taunted by a stupid elf then he'd had enough thank you very much.

            “I wouldn't be going just yet, boy,” said Eoghan. “That dear aunt of yours is inside waiting your return. Wouldn't want to make her wait in vain now, would you?”

            Of course his aunt would choose here to meet him, rather than waiting the extra half hour it would have taken for him to get home. He trudged inside, Eoghan slithering in behind him. Inside he could see the usual research station in full working order, covered with books and laptop. Thrown over the back of the chair was his aunt's white coat of office.

            “You don't have to do this,” said Peter from the bowels of the house.

            “Evidently I do!” said Angela. “You're going to get coackroaches.”

            “Good. They can eat the woodlice. Ow!”

            There was a splash and a thump as Angela threw something at him.

            “If you can't be helpful get out of the kitchen. Jesus. Anyone would think I was pulling out your fingernails, not doing you a favour. Do you like living in a pig sty?”

            Peter emerged into the hallway, grinning.

            “Your aunt is an absolute nut case, but do keep sending her our way.”

            Stiles walked through and stuck his head around the wall as his aunt turned up the radio she was half listening to, amplifying the opening beats of _Material Girl_. She started to sing along, swaying her hips in time to the music as she washed the massive rack of the Hale's dirty dishes. She threw up a plate in the air with one hand, did a spin, caught it with the other and placed it on the drying rack.

            He'd seen his mother do this countless times before. Standing at the sink, singing along to Madonna. She only did the plate catching thing when she thought no one was looking. Perhaps she'd done it here when she'd been visiting the Hales without Stiles ever knowing. When his aunt even started to do the same dance kicks his Mom used to do, Stiles forgot how to breathe.

            He didn't notice Derek walking up beside him. He barely noticed Derek reach around and run a thumb down the length of his cheek. When he pulled it away Stiles saw that it was damp. He was crying.

            “That's my Mom,” Stiles whispered. “That's her. Right there.”

            “I know. I remember.”

            Stiles twisted away unable to stand being so close to Derek. The man had to choose now, after everything, to show some small sign of affection. Stiles wanted to run away, as far and as fast as he could but he had a job to do. He always had a goddamn job to do.

            He tried to block out the sound of his aunt's voice as she sang along to the low bit at the end of the song that he and his Mom used to sing together, competing to see who could get their voice lower. He was just getting old enough to win when she'd fallen ill.

            The radio clicked off and Angela walked into the room. She peeled off a rubber glove, pinging it into Peter's face before doing the same with the second.

            “Found anything?”

            Stiles found it hard to believe that this was the same woman whom he'd had to pick up off of a bar room floor only a few days ago, talking to the man she'd been drowning her sorrows over as if nothing had happened. How did people do that? He couldn't stand to be in the same state as Derek. If he could leave the continent, he'd have happily done it.

            “Nothing,” said Peter depositing the rubber gloves on a free bit of table. “I'm still trying to get to grips with this program. Stiles is the guy you want to talk to?”

            Angela swung round to see Stiles standing there with Derek close beside him.

            “Oh, you're here. Excellent. Both of you.” There was a question in that tone, but Stiles chose to ignore it until later. He cast his own questioning look at Peter. Angela had the decency to look a little guilty before she shrugged. “Any luck with the hunt?”

            “It's Jackson or at least it was. We found his lair but it's not been used in a while.”

            Angela looked up at the ceiling, crossing her arms.

            “It just doesn't make any sense! Why would he be doing this, what could make him do this so selectively?”

            “Lyconic rabies?” said Peter pointing down to something written in one of his books.

            “No, I thought of that already,” said Angela. “I've seen cases before and it's not this vicious and he's being too selective. Rabies cases attack everything that moves, they don't just go after fae born. We'd have a dozen animal deaths if it was that.”

            “Could just be a coincidence,” said Peter.

            “It's not,” said Eoghan. “He's going after fair folk now as well. Full bloods out on their jaunts. He doesn't get near a one of course, but he barks loud enough to make them run scared.”

            Angela tapped her fingers on the desk.

            “Okay. Let’s break this down. What do we know about Jackson Whittemore?”

            “He's a werewolf,” said Peter. “He's a former kanima who died once then covered himself in magic goo and was reborn, saved by the love of a good woman. How romantic.”

            “Could he be being controlled by someone now, even if he's rabid?” asked Derek.

            Angela thought about it. “I don't think so. Once you cure someone of being a kanima it doesn't just come back.”

            “Even if the reason they got rescued leaves them?” asked Stiles thinking of Lydia.

            “No. A kanima is only that way because it doesn't see the monster in itself. When you show him the monster he can't find it again. We need to go deeper. Why was he a kanima? There might be something there.”

            “Because he was lost,” said Stiles. An idea was forming in the back of his mind. “He didn't know who his parents were. They died before he were born. Both of them. She was on life support until they could get him out by c-section.”

            “Why am I only just hearing about this now?” said Angela.

            “We never told Deaton or Ms Morelle any of this,” said Stiles. His mind was snowballing. It was a mad theory but his gut was telling him to follow it. “They said that it looked like it was murder. Eoghan, do you know any of this.”

            When Eoghan smiled Stiles could see that each of his teeth was a sharp canine.

            “Whatever are you insinuating?”

            “I'm not insinuating anything but could it be possible that one of Jackson's parents was a faery and that someone was trying to cover that up. He fits the bill. Strong, fit, handsome, intelligent even if it is in an asshole kind of way.”

            “Sounds like a perfect fit to me,” Angela said under her breath.

            “Why ever should we try to cover that up, me boy?” said Eoghan. “I've got half a dozen lads and girlies meself running around, not knowing that it's me who's their real Da. Most of them have had a few whelps themselves. There's no sense to be killing just because one of my brothers got them up the duffer.”

            “Answer the question straight Eoghan,” said Angela. She was obviously used to dealing with the looping answers that faeries seemed to give.

            “I will, if you ask the question straight, deary.”

            “Did one of you father the boy now called Jackson Whittemore?”

            He grinned broadly. Beautiful and utterly deadly.

            “No. Neither me, nor one of my kin fathered that boy. As far as I know, it was none of my brothers that had a hand with that tragedy. And if you're finished with the accusations, I'll be done for the day. I only came to see the dog fight between the two lover boys and they are being frustratingly understanding.”

            Eoghan jumped high into the air, throwing his arms above his head. Instead of landing he passed straight through the floor as if it wasn't there.

            “Damn,” said Peter. “I quite liked having someone I could talk to around here.”

            Stiles slumped backwards against the wall. He'd been so sure, still was even though it had been proven wrong.

            “Good theory Stiles,” Angela said. “Could still be a good place to start.”

            “How? All we know is that his parents were killed in a slightly dodgy car crash and had a massive life insurance policy taken out on them.”

            “Exactly. That means there's a paper trail and this time you have someone who can actually get to it. Come along Stiles, there's work to be done.”

            She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and donned it in one swift movement. Stiles followed after her as she strode out towards her car.

            “Call Deaton,” she said. “Give him the exact location of the lair and tell him to take samples. Do a full sweep. Anything that would connect Jackson to the fae and any other disease or illness that could cause this. Follow me in your Jeep when you’re done.”

            Stiles did as he was told and didn't spend a second to think about Derek as he left.


	24. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is hard on Jackson's trail, unfortunately that trail goes straight to the morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there plot! Haven't seen you in a while.

            A record of every autopsy done at Beacon Hills’ morgue was kept in the hospital records room. Angela strode into reception, Stiles following alongside and all it took was a flash of a badge to get them through. No one ever seemed to question the badge. She was one of the men in black, well woman in black, you let them do whatever they wanted it seemed. The attendant gave a cursory look back at Stiles.

            “Intern,” said Angela as they breezed through.

            “That was easy,” said Stiles. They walked through to a room with more filing cabinets than he thought were allowed to exist. “I thought for sure you'd have to do the black eye thingy.”

            “I wouldn't have been able to. The need wasn’t great enough. Besides, autopsy reports are public record. You could have come here and requested it way back when if you'd wanted.”

            “But it was a police investigation? Doesn't that mean they lock it down?”

            “'Was' being the operative term. When they ruled it inconclusive it became public record and ended up here in the graveyard of lost souls.”

            Stiles looked around the room, a small office that had been crammed with filing cabinets. Every single file in here was a life that had been snuffed out. Most had fallen to old age but there were many, too many that had been cut down in the prime of their life. He could feel them. It wasn't the future that tickled at him here but a glimpse of the past. Somewhere in here were all the people who had fallen to Peter, to Jackson, to Matt. Somewhere in here was his mother.

            “Eugh,” said Angela shuddering. “I hate hospitals. Too many echoes.”

            “You feel that too?” asked Stiles. “I thought I was just imagining things.”

            The whispers were moving around in the back of his brain, slithering like snakes. Quiet but no less insidious.

            “No. You're hearing echoes. It's like the Web making an impression near where someone lives. When a person dies they leave behind an echo, a memory in the air of what they were. Most fade pretty quickly, but those who die violently or were passionate in life tend to stick around.”

            “Are you saying that ghosts are real?”

            “In a manner of speaking. More the world remembering what was once there and isn't now.”

            “Spooky. Not that that’s surprising. You could tell me that Santa and the Easter Bunny are real and spend most of the year holidaying in the Bahamas  with the tooth fairy and I wouldn’t be surprised at this point.”

            They stood looking around at the room. Stiles kept half expecting some murder victim to start walking through the wall and start wailing, but it was just the two of them.

            Angela clapped her hands loudly, making Stiles jump so high he swore he nearly hit the ceiling. Why did she always have to scare him like that?

            “Right. Go on then,” she said to him.

            “Go on? You mean find the report? There are like a thousand in here.”

            “Number's probably nearer ten thousand. Better get cracking.”

            Angela stood with her hands on her hips, obviously not about to do anything to help any time soon. Stiles walked up to the cabinet and examined the label. It was organised by date which was something. Just as he was about to read he had a flash of himself stepping back in three seconds time and moving on to the next drawer. It was the wrong one.

            He didn't need to spend the next half hour hunting round for the right cabinet. The fact that he could was all that he needed. He reached out to the future and at once saw himself walking up to every one of the cabinets. Most of them he just shook his head and walked away from, but there was one right in the back that he shouted in triumph and called Angela over. Running over he looked at the date.

            _April – August, 1995_

“Awesome,” he said. He could hear the click of Angela's heels following him.

            “You've not found it yet,” she said.

            Stiles did the same trick to find the drawer, then the exact files he needed. James and Jenny Smith. He flipped the cover open of James' file and was taken aback. The photo of a man's cold, dead face was stapled to the corner. He was the exact image of Jackson.

            “Well done,” said Angela. “There's hope for this one yet.”

            She took the second file and walked over to a small desk at the edge of the room and started to read about Jenny, while Stiles read the inner most details of Jackson's father. He wasn't particularly familiar with full on coroner's reports. He was used to the broken down version you found in police files. This one contained every single gory detail. They'd done the full works on account of the suspicious circumstances. It was strange to think of a person being cut up and measured like that. An entire life reduced to the stomach contents and the weight of his organs.

            He was barely half way through when there was a staccato knock on the door and Manuel walked in. He was carrying a pile of photocopied files in his arm.

            “What do you hear Starbuck?” Angela asked.

            “Nothing by the rain, sir,” replied Manuel. He dropped the files onto the desk and perched on the edge. The files were marked as being from the police office.

            “Then grab your gun and bring in the cat. That was fast. What have you got?”

            “Surprisingly little. It seems that one of the main reasons Mr and Mrs Smith's deaths were treated so suspiciously is because they are god damn suspicious. When they tried to track their lives during the investigation they couldn't find a trace of them before 1990. Not a dang thing and most of what they do have is fraudulent. Stolen social security numbers, fake addresses, all of it. They arrived in Beacon Hills two years before they died, and everything before that was a lie. It's a remarkable piece of fraud I'll give them that.”

            “Mr and Mrs Smith, huh? Maybe they were secret assassins on the run from the mob and someone caught up with them?” said Stiles.

            “Could be,” said Manuel. “Remember the insurance policy that Jackson will get when he turns 18? They took that out seven months before they died.”

            “Just when they realised that the wife was pregnant,” said Angela

            “And it's huge. We're talking multi million. James worked in an office, Jenny part time in a store. It is way more than they could afford unless they knew they wouldn't be around for their child.”

            Angela flicked through the reports in front of her, frowning the whole time deepening her prominent worry lines.

            “Anyway, I'll leave this with you two,” said Manuel. “I've got to go meet with the faery queen again tomorrow. I don't understand why they can't come to us just once?”

            “Sometimes you have to roll a hard six, Apollo,” Angela chimed as she waved him out the door.

            Stiles looked at his aunt over the top of his file, incredulously.

            “What?” she asked.

            “Seriously. First Star Wars and now Battlestar?”

            She temporarily slipped into a bad British accent as she quoted. “'Politics is the only thing more boring than blood samples' and we have to deal with both. We have it on in the back ground. You think you're the first geek in the family? I think you'll find you come from a long and distinguished line of nerdery. Empire Strikes Back, opening night. I was Luke, your Mom was Han Solo, Connor was Obi Wan and Kieran was Princess Leia. “

            “My _uncle_ was Princess Leia?” asked Stiles.

            “He's half faery. They can be kind of like that sometimes.”

            “Do you mean actually half faery or that he's bisexual?” asked Stiles.

            “No. Literally. Mom was so pissed when she found out she’d been tricked. He is bi too. All the Council members are actually, even though Kieran isn't in the Order. It's something to do with seeing all the peoples of the world equally.”

            The information took a moment to filter through.

            “So you're... and my MOM!”

           Stiles felt his stomach clench with horror. No. Not his Mom. His Mom was not allowed to do anything like that. His Mom had spent every night sitting at home until one day she met the nice man from the police department, decided to marry him and one day a baby magically appeared and _that was what happened!_

            “Yup.” Angela leant forward, relishing in Stiles' misery. “Don't worry your pretty little head too much. Remember when I said your Mom got all the nice and I got all the nasty? Well I definitely got the gay and your Mom got the straight. Sure there's Peter and your Mom had Charline, but generally speaking-”

            “My Mom dated a woman?”

            Stiles had never had a problem with anyone being gay. He'd been sleeping with a guy for the past four months for Christ's sake, but the idea of his Mom being with a woman was wrong at the most fundamental of levels. He'd never be able to watch lesbian porn again without seeing her face. One of the great pleasures in life was lost to him.

            “Only for a few months,” said Angela. As if that made everything better. “She was sixteen. Of course there might have been some I didn't know about in her wilderness years.”

            Stiles gagged. Suddenly an autopsy report didn't seem like the most disgusting thing he could think about at the precise moment in time compared to his mother's sex life. They returned to it and eventually he managed to shake the image of his mother's curious phase out of his head with a technical medical language. It seemed that whoever James Smith was he was the epitome of health and athletic prowess. If you wanted a perfect specimen of humanity, James Smith was as close as you were going to get. No wonder the Whittemore's had chosen to adopt Jackson if this was the breeding stock he'd come from.

            Stiles reported all this to Angela.

            “Pretty much same here.”

            She was frowning as she said it still. Something was bothering her.

           “What's up?” asked Stiles. He moved around to look over her shoulder. She was on the front page of the report.

            “The date of death is listed as being June 14th. The date of autopsy is June 20th, six days later. If there was police involvement they would have done the autopsy a.s.a.p. Even taking the C-section into account, that's a long time.”

            “What you thinking?”

            Angela shrugged and passed the report to Stiles. He flicked through lazily, stopping at a section for additional notes. There was a cramped scrawl written in the bottom. It took him a few goes to decipher it.

            “ _This report details the second autopsy on the body_ ,” he read. “ _The first was found to be in error._ In error. What kind of error can you make on an autopsy? Do it on a live person?”

            Angela grabbed it back and read it.

            “Only one way to find out. We have to find that first report.”


	25. Mother and Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles digs even deeper into Jackson's parents deaths.

            “I'm sorry Agent Weiss but that file will have been destroyed years ago.”

            Angela tapped her fingers on the desktop, glaring at the wall over the receptionists shoulder.

            “There must be some trace of it. A record about why it had to get redone?”

            “There might be if you searched through the archives long enough, but I wouldn't even know where to start looking,” said the receptionist.

            “But it was a murder investigation,” said Stiles. “Surely they would have kept it if it was a freaking murder investigation and there was a dodgy autopsy report. Does that not seem important to anyone?”

            The receptionist was doing her best to look apologetic but there was an FBI agent standing in front of her with an angry intern flapping at her side. It was bound to fluster anyone.

            “I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't a murder investigation. It was ruled suspicious and that was that. We can't keep everything on file.”

            “Never mind,” said Angela. She nodded her head as she offered their thanks and the two of them started to walk down the hospital corridor.

            They'd taken copies of all of the coroner’s reports and were leafing through them as they walked. Stiles kept hoping that he'd read a line he'd missed the previous three read throughs and the answer would suddenly jump out at him. No such luck.

            “Stiles?”

            He swung his body round while his legs carried on for another half step and then caught up. Mrs McCall was standing, looking at him from behind the desk as he walked through the hospital.

            “Hey. What are you doing here?” he asked.

            “I work here Stiles. What are yo-oh my god!”

            From the wideness of her eyes Mrs McCall had just seen Angela. He was getting used to that look by now.

            “You... you must be Stiles' aunt,” she said. “Scott was telling me about you.”

            “Angela. You're Scott's mother I take it.”

            “That is my dubious honour,” said Mrs McCall. She was getting prickly. Stiles wasn't entirely sure how much Scott had told his mother since she found out about his special time of the month. She looked around to make sure that no one was listening. “So are you two here because of... you know what?”

            “You mean the fact that Jackson Whittemore is very much alive and eviscerating faery people? Yes, that's why we're here.”

            Angela's bluntness shocked even Stiles. He was so used to talking in half sentences and veiled meanings that laying it all out like that in no uncertain terms seemed wrong.

            “Okay I've missed a couple of steps here. What?” asked Mrs McCall.

            Stiles gave her the brief account of what they'd discovered, showing her the coroner’s report to see what her more qualified eye made of it.

            “I tend to only deal with patients when they're alive but this all looks fine,” she said. “Better than fine. Apart from being dead these two were in perfect health. I don't know where you'd find the first report. Unless-”

            She trailed off and flicked to the front page before logging onto her terminal and looking something up. With a smile she turned to them.

            “You're in luck. Dr Fredrickson, the coroner who did the second autopsy is on duty tonight.”

            Angela clapped her hands and grabbed the files back up again.

            “Mrs McCall. You are a wonder and a beauty. Remind me that I owe you one.”

            With a wink, Angela began to march off towards the morgue.

            “I'm setting up a rule. You are not allowed to flirt or sleep with the parents or relatives of anyone I know,” said Stiles when they were out of earshot.

            “Spoil sport.”

            “I mean it! It's pointless anyway. Scott's Mom is totally straight.”

            “Never stopped me before.”

            Angela kept on walking as Stiles watched her move away. He needed to ask the neurology department if there was some way to erase a portion of his brain.

 

*****

 

            Dr Fredrickson, when they found him, was just finishing off his dinner. This was in itself not that strange but the fact that the vital organs of some recently departed soul were lying on a tray next to him nearly made Stiles loose his own lunch.

            “A woman giving birth a day after being declared brain dead?” said the coroner. “You remember a little thing like that. She was beautiful.”

            He got up and pointed to the woman laid out on the slab. She was in her sixties, Stiles would say.

            “Death can give people this look, like they're perfectly serene at last. Miss Pullman here essentially died of stress but you can't see a trace of that on her expression now, can you?”

            This wasn't the first time that Stiles had seen a dead body. He strongly doubted that it would be the last but it was the first time it had been so clean and clinical. It was the smell that turned his stomach, all bleach and cleaning fluids. In the corner of his vision he could see the after images of how every person lying in that morgue died. He could see Miss Pullman as she collapsed to the ground, clutching her arm. A woman on an operating table as the surgeons battled on to try and restart her heart even though her soul had already left her body. A man as he lay in a hospital bed, his wife and son holding on to his hand tightly.

            “Can we get back to the Smiths?” said Angela.

            “Terribly sorry. We don't get many visitors down here. The odd police officer, especially when we had that awful business with Kate Argent and all those animal attacks. You'll have to excuse an old man from waffling on. I'm doing it again, aren't I? The Smiths. I only did the woman, what was her name?”

            “Jenny,” said Stiles.

            “Yes. That was it. Jenny. She was in perfect, and I mean perfect health. There was wasn't a single thing wrong with her. It was like looking at an anatomy dummy made of flesh.”

            “So why the second report,” asked Angela. “Was it the perfection that made you curious? You thought it must be wrong?”

            “Oh no. You know how these things go. The child was delivered in the evening, we didn't get the body down here until later. The guy who did it had to stay late to get the job done because they suspected foul play at the time so wanted a report as soon as possible. He wrote in his report that one of the kidneys was missing. When I went back to check a day later, there they were. Two perfectly ordinary kidneys, right where they should be. I redid the entire report again. That's the one you've got there.”

            “I've heard of people robbing organs off of corpses, but putting them back in again? Reverse organ harvesting seems kind of counterproductive,” said Stiles.

            Angela had gone tense besides Stiles.

            “You didn't send up any warning flags? A coroner writing up a wrong report?”

            “We had the full inquest. He fully admitted that he was tired and could have missed it, though how you miss a kidney I'll never know.”

            He took a big bite of his sandwich and a few crumbs fell into the empty cavity of Miss Pullman's chest. Stiles had an after image of her sat at the dinner table, brushing the crumbs of her lunch from her chest.

            “Thank you,” said Angela. It sounded like Stiles wasn't the only one trying to hold his lunch down. “We'll be in touch if we need anything more.”

            “Happy to help,” he said as they walked very quickly towards the parking lot.

            They gulped down the fresh air as soon as they were outside.

            “I hate coroners,” Angela gasped. “I hate hospitals. I hate morgues. I hate _fucking echoes!_ ”

            Stiles had to agree. He slumped down on a bench outside the main doors and looked across.

            “So. Amazing disappearing kidney act. Any ideas?”

          “Apart from someone swiping kidneys to sell on the black market and getting the mixed up along the way? No.”

            Stiles ran his brain over and over the facts. Jackson was a werewolf. Jackson may or may not have werewolf rabies. Jackson was killing or attempting to kill faery people. Jackson's father was definitely not a faery. Jackson's mother was a perfect specimen of health whose kidney had disappeared and then come back.

            Stiles sat bolt upright as it hit him right in the gut.

            Jackson's _father_ was not a faery.

            “Aunt Angie. You said that faeries impregnated people by pretending to be their husband or boyfriend or whatever.”

            “Did you just call me Angie?”

            Stiles ignored her, his thoughts rolling out of his head.

            “A glamour, you said. They look like something else. Is that just, like, a projection so we think they look different or do they actually physically change?”

            “They physically change. Face, bone structure, everything or else you'd be able to tell the second you touched them. Why?”

            “So it's a physical change, and they can control it right. How they change backwards and forwards. But what if they were dead? If a faery died while under the glamour, would it stick?”

            Angela's eyes darted backwards and forwards as if over an invisible page. She was seeing it. She was connecting the dots right along with him. Fumbling she grabbed her phone out of her pocket and started to dial. Half way through her finger hesitated.

            “Fuck,” she swore. She deleted the number and typed in another.

            “Hello. Kieran. It's Angie... you're a fuck face too. Serious question for a moment if you can. Glamours. Do they stick after death?... They do! Completely or just for a while?... Hang on a minute. I'm going to put you on speaker.”

            She whipped the phone down and a tiny voice emanated from the speaker.

            “-speaker for? Who else is there?” There was a slight lilt to his voice. A celtic twang to some of the vowels.

            “Hey, uncle Kieran,” said Stiles. He waved at the phone, even though it was pointless. “Thanks for the birthday present.”

            “Stiles! Glad you liked it. Didn't drink it all at once I hope.”

            “No. I was warned.”

            They hadn't. Stuffed somewhere deep in the bowels of his closet was a half-bottle of the Wolf Whiskey. Something told him that stuff would come in useful one day. The other stuff, he'd burned in a ceremonial ritual on the barbecue. The flames had been green.

            “Ha! My reputation precedes me I see.”

            “Kieran. Focus,” snapped Angela.

            “Alright woman! Keep yer knickers on. Glamours hold in death. It's a survival thing. Wouldn't do much good pretending to be human if you spoiled the effect by doing something as silly as dying and ruining the game for the rest of us. Whatever form you die in, that's the way you stay.”

            “What about if they take away whatever faery trinket was keeping you locked in the glamour,” said Stiles, remembering when Angela had snatched Eoghan's pendant away.

            “I'm not sure,” thought Keiron. “It might make it flicker a bit, but I think it'd hold pretty steady.”

            Stiles scrabbled through the police reports.

            “Here!” He stabbed his finger at the date on the form detailing the personal effects of Jenny Smith being taken as evidence. “Just before the first autopsy. A wedding ring, a pendant and a bracelet. All gold with celtic design.”

            “Sounds about right,” said Kieran.

            “That deceptive little bastard,” said Angela.

            “I can hear you, you know,” laughed Kieran over the phone.

            “Not you,” Angela bit back. “Though you are. I was talking about Eoghan.”

            “Eoghan! He's a full blood faery. What the hell were you thinking taking anything he says at face value?”

            “I asked him a direct question and he gave me a direct answer, Kieran. I'm not an idiot.” She was wheedling at him down the phone. She was getting wound up by her little brother. It was adorable. “I asked if Jackson's father was a faery and he said no. You know faeries can't lie, so I believed him. I never even thought to ask if his mother was the faery.”

            “Wait. His mother? He's half fae on his mother's side?”

            Kieran’s voice had changed, the light gaiety had gone from it. He was all business. It sounded remarkably like Angela.

            “Yes. Is that important? Would it make any difference?” she asked.

            “Aye. That it would. Faery physiology is different to ours. She'd have to hold up the glamour for the whole pregnancy. That would be an enormous task. That much magic would do things to the child, warp it and infect it. I can't tell you what would definitely happen though. The ladies of the fair folk don't come above ground. I mean ever. It's too dirty up here.”

            “Dirtier than underground?” asked Stiles.

            “You ever been to a faery palace Stiles?” asked Kieran. “I used to spend my summers at one with my father. Crystal palaces that sing with the motions of the earth and stone cities greater than any you'll find above ground, even now. But that's not the only reason they don't come up here. They have less women than men down there. They're protected like the Queen's jewels. They rule down in the land below. For one to come up and choose to mate with a human... I don't know what they'd think of that. Make 'em angry as hell, no doubt.”

            Angela's voice was iron hard when she spoke.

            “Angry enough to kill them both?”

            “Maybe. Probably not both. They'd drag her back and make her the plaything for the men folk who couldn't get a mate. Make her watch as they tortured her bloke and roasted her baby over a fire. Something like that.”

            His voice was completely without disgust. Disgust was all Stiles felt.

            “Thank you Kieran. And with that delightful image I hang up on you.”

            Her brother was half way through shouting something down the phone when she hit the end call button. She looked as dark as Stiles felt.

            “I can see why the Smiths were trying so hard to hide themselves,” he said at last.

            Angela leaned her head against the roof of her car.

            “I fucking _hate_ faeries.”


	26. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles briefs Lydia on all they've learnt about Jackson.

            The last time that Stiles had sat on Lydia's bed she'd been wearing nothing but a negligee and been strung out on enough tranquillisers to calm down a rampaging elephant. Now she was sitting next to him as perfectly dressed as she ever was, showing just the right amount of cleavage to still be tasteful and was trying to stop herself from completely freaking out.

            “Rabies?”

            “Yes. That's what we think. It reacted badly to his faery DNA.”

            She stood up, smoothing down her skirt as she walked over to the window. Her eyes were dry, her expression determined.

            “So he's mad and will keep killing faeries until he dies?”

            “No,” said Stiles standing. “If we can get to him, there is a chance that we can pull him back from the brink.”

            “If you’re asking me to try and bring him back I don't think I can do that this time,” Lydia said. She was trying to cover over her shattered heart with false defiance but she couldn't fool Stiles. As much as she might pretend she hadn't forgiven Jackson, it didn't stop her loving him any less.

            Like how letting Derek go didn't make Stiles want him any less.

            “Luckily all we need to do is give him the cure. Dr Deaton is cooking it up right now.”

            “Cure?” she said. “You can't cure rabies.”

            “The lyconic strand you can. Something about suppressing it for long enough for the healing process to kick in. Apparently it's a complicated recipe but Doc can manage it.”

            Lydia was holding her head high, thinking.

            “And then he'll be back to himself again. Like it never happened?”

            “He'll still be a wolf,” he said, “but he'll be back to usual jackass self again.”

            She carried on looking out the window. Her backside stuck out when she did, lifting her skirt so he could see up her thigh. The sight gave him a familiar tremble of excitement. It was nice to get a little reminder of the old Stiles in there somewhere that wasn't completely Derek centric. Of course Old Stiles would be a gibbering wreck on the floor at that moment, instead of mildly aroused.

            “Will you go back to him?” he asked.

            She turned her face, uncertain.

            “I don't mind if you do,” he said. She looked a little disappointed.

            “You don't?” she asked.

            “No. Come on Lydia, this wasn't exactly the most functional of relationships.”

            She nodded and went back to sit beside him.

            “We had fun though, didn't we?”

            “We did,” he said. “We still can but whatever happens with Jackson, whether we save him or we don't, you're still in love with him. And I'm still... addicted to mine. Anything beyond friends is going to backfire royally.”

            “Are you sure you're a sixteen year old boy?”

            “Seventeen,” he corrected.

            “Seventeen. Sorry. Most boys your age would just have sex with anything that would let them.”

            He hung his head and looked down at his fingers. Fingers that had done things he'd only conjured in his head in the darkest hours of the night until six months ago. They had felt every curve and contour of Derek's body. Nails that had left red scratches down Derek's back, that he'd watch heal in an instant, only to be scratched out again.

            “I did that,” he said. “It's why I know it only gets your heart broken into a thousand little pieces.”

            Lydia pressed up close to him.

            “They really did a number on you, huh? You can tell me who it is. I promise I won't freak out or tell anyone.”

            He could tell her, he realised. Everyone else knew, it would only be a matter of time before Scott told Allison and Allison told her. What was the harm? But he couldn't tell her. Not now. He really didn't want to have the whole 'so it's because your gay' conversation or attempting to dissect Derek's fractured psyche. Or his own.

            “Ask me another time,” he said.

            She huddled in closer and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight.

            “I can't believe I'm about to say this,” he said, “but they say true love is wanting the best for someone no matter what. If Jackson is what's best for you, if he really is what makes you happy then you should go to him. I still think he's a bastard who doesn't deserve you, but if he's what you want then go love him.”

            Lydia looked at Stiles for a long time before taking him around the neck and giving him a long kiss on the lips.

            “You are one hell of a guy Stiles. You'll make one hell of a boyfriend one day.”

            “Think you could tell the rest of the world that?”

            They sat huddled together, comfortable in each other’s silence for a while.

            “What happens now?” she asked.

            “Roll with the punches I guess,” he said. “I know I'm the most desirable hunk of man meat this side of Colorado, so it'll be hard to see me go.”

            She punched him in the chest.

            “Hey,” he said. “How about this. We keep going with the whole kissy friend thing, even if it does make us sound like we're twelve. You can come cheer for me at the game this Friday and I'll be there if you need someone to drag to the latest chick flick you want to see but if one of us wants out...”

            “We let them out. Deal?” she said.

            “Deal,” he said.

            She sat back and held out her hand, which Stiles took and shook firmly.

            “I wish to add the request that we review this arrangement on a monthly basis should no other change result in that time,” she said in her best lawyer voice.

            “This councillor seems no problem with this arrangement and wishes to add the stipulation that as much fun as humanly possible is had at all times.”

            “Council concurs.”

            They started to laugh. Whatever had happened between the two of them, and whatever happened next, Stiles realised that Lydia was probably one of the best friends he was ever going to have.


	27. Moral Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the lacrosse game, and all of Stiles' family is there.

            Coach had just given the team their usual pre game pep-talk by calling them all idiots before they went out onto the field for warm up. The crowd was already cheering their names as they stepped out onto the field. Stiles automatically scanned the gathered masses for his father's face and found it near the front. They waved at each other. Sitting next to him were Lydia and Allison, already clapping and cheering. Lydia saw him watching her and gave a doubly loud cheer.

            There was a wave of pointing and whispering as the crowd followed his aunt as she walked in. Word had spread of this insane relative of his but she'd been keeping a fairly low profile, so few people had actually seen her. Now here she was coming to support her nephew at his big game as if it was normal. She spotted Stiles and changed course towards him.

            “Not planning on stealing my secret weapon?” Coach Finnstock asked. He was eyeing up Angela suspiciously. “It's going to seriously screw with my game plan if you step in and drag him off the field.”

            “I assure you Coach, I have no ulterior motive here other than supporting my nephew. Go team.” She held up an unenthusiastic fist in support, before bundling herself back up against the cold.

            Stiles raised an eye brow at her, seeking confirmation that she was telling the truth and not just placating his paranoid coach.

            “Good game,” she said. “I'll be sitting up there with your Dad.”

            “Huddle up boys. Alright, we are going to win this. We are going to beat them until they are bleeding piles of putrescence on the field. If anyone is going to die this game, you make damn sure it's the other team!”

            They all let out their war cry and headed out for their positions on the field. The whistle blew and they were off.

            Stiles remembered his lessons and all his training. Within the first minute Stiles was ducking and diving through the other team, catching every ball, intercepting every pass, setting up for Scott to make a spectacular goal.

            The crowd went wild and Stiles felt a familiar rush of exhilaration as team mates crowded round him and Scott as they made their way back into formation for the next lay-up.

            The ball started out in the other team's possession. Try as hard as he might, Stiles could not intercept the ball. He clipped the Web into his sight, seeing all the paths and connections between the players, looking for who they might be likely to pass to and where he could intercept. Then he saw his chance. He ran in, shouldering the intended recipient in the side as he caught the ball and ran on with it.

            “Break his face, you bastard!”

            His aunt's scream for blood ascended on high from the crowd, nearly making him drop the ball in surprise. He recovered and passed the ball down the pitch, Isaac making the final goal.

            “Take that you cock suckers!”

            Angela certainly seemed to be enjoying herself.

            The longer the game went on the more violent Angela's cheers became. At one point she screamed for someone to 'rip his balls off and show them to him' when the opposition managed to score. When Stiles himself scored he could hear his Dad and Lydia joining in with her, though their shouts weren't quite as graphic as his aunt's.

            When half time rolled around and they huddled back at the bench most of the team was unsure whether to shake hands with Angela or run away in terror. They could still hear her now, having a loud argument with one of the other team player's parents. Her usual calm demeanour had been totally abandoned in favour of all out screaming.

            “What the hell?” was all Scott asked.

            “Oh, she's just letting her hair down. She'll be back to robot soon.”

            Stiles watched as his Dad dragged her away from the other man before they started having a full on punch up. She was still shouting insults at him as the two of them walked up towards the bench.

            “I'm so proud of you,” said his Dad before Angela shoved him out the way. She grabbed Stiles by the front of his jersey and pulled him towards her.

            “You! You listen to me! You get back out there, and you start fighting! You get out there and you play like you mean it. And you!” She let go of Stiles and pulled in Scott. “What they fuck are you doing? When they come at you, you don't let them get the ball. You go for their squishy underbelly. You step on their neck and you keep stepping until their squealing for their Momma. DO YOU HEAR ME! God I love sports!”

            She let them both go and screamed out to the heavens before walking off to go shout at another one of his team mates.

            Finnstock sidled up beside Stiles.

            “Hell of a woman that. She your aunt, Stilinski?”

            “Yup.”

            “She single?”

            “Trust me. You don't want to go there. She'd probably rip of your one remaining testicle with her bare hands and make you eat it.”

            Finnstock smiled like that didn't sound such a bad night. And Stiles thought his sexual preferences were weird.

            Stiles' Dad walked up and gave him a big hug.

            “You're nailing it out there!”

            “You expected any less?” Stiles said with confidence. His Dad's face said that he had, in fact, expected a great deal less. Stiles couldn't blame him.

            The sound of Angela screaming at the defence line, while Coach Finnstock watched on in lust, drew their attention.

            “Seems she can be a bit of a firecracker that one. No wonder she's so locked down if this is what she's like otherwise. Reminds me of your Mom.”

            “What are you talking about? Mom would never have screamed out to 'disembowl those God damn pathetic losers' then threatened to punch someone's Dad in the vagina.”

            His Dad laughed and agreed that was probably not the case.

            “She would have been just as passionate though. She'd have been screaming just as loud. You only knew your Mom when she was your Mom. She was one hell of a vixen when we were dating.”

            “Oh my god Dad, stop. Stop right now, right this second.”

            There were details about his Mom and Dad that Stiles was quite happy not knowing. He was absolutely content to labour under the apprehension that he was immaculately conceived and nothing he heard to the contrary was going to change that.

            His Dad clipped him round the ear.

            “God Stiles, no. I just meant she had a wild side. Do you know the real story of how we met? She'd just come into town and was in some skeezy dive bar, drunk off of a bottle of some alcohol that was mostly paint thinner. She was getting so rowdy that the owner called us in. I was a rookie back then. When I walked in there she was, dancing on the bar top to some song, did a stage dive and feinted. Luckily I was there to catch her. She spent the next couple of hours passed out in the back of my cruiser. Went and got coffee the next morning.”

            Stiles mouth was dry when he asked the next question.

            “The song. Wouldn't happen to have been _Hit me with your best shot_ would it?”

            “Yeah. Yeah, actually it was. How did you know that?” His Dad looked at him strangely.

            “Just something Mom said once,” Stiles said.

            He couldn't exactly say 'because my aunt is replaying the Echoes that Mom left behind' could he. The excitement she had here, the dish washing dance, the table top dancing at the bar. It was his Mom. She'd left more of herself behind than he'd ever thought.

            He looked at the sky and sent up a silent thanks for watching over him, even now as Coach wrangled his team back from an enthusiastic Angela to do his job, and talk tactics for the second half.

 

*****

 

            The second half went just as well as the first had done. Angela was still screaming for them to 'Rip out that fucker's throat and wear it like a scarf I will swear if I fucking want to you retard'. They were ahead by a good lead and were playing defensively as they waited for the clock to run out.

            The world seemed to slow down, each player moving along the shining path set out before them. He was seeing the future play, the whole scene doling out before him in what was only a fraction of a second and seemed like a thousand. There was something wrong with the play. The balance was off.

            There were too many players on the field.

            As his vision snapped back to normal speed he realised his aunt's screaming had ceased. She knew it too. He called up the Web. All around him people danced orange with adrenaline. Except one. One black hollow in the light, shining darkly with purpose.

            Jackson.

            He was blending in with the game perfectly, seemingly just another player on the field but his course was clear. He was heading towards the midfield. Towards Scott and Isaac. Taking out the competition.

            Stiles dropped his stick as he sprinted down the field and tackled his friends to the ground amid a mummer of confusion. The mad wolf jumped, but too late Stiles realised he wasn't attacking him or his friends.

            “Greenburg!” Stiles screamed.

            Jackson landed on his real target and tried to cave in the other boy's skull in with the butt of his stick but it just kept bouncing off of the helmet. When someone tried to haul him off, he lashed out. Stiles could make out a flash of amber as the unlucky Good Samaritan scuttled away in terror.

            Stiles managed to extricate himself from the pile he'd created and started to run towards Jackson just as the wolf reached up high and readied to slash down across Greenburg's throat.

            


	28. Talk To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles takes charge of the situation with Jackson and help comes from an unexpected quarter.

            Jackson was poised, ready to strike. Stiles struggled up as fast as he could but he wouldn't make it in time. Jackson's claws were about to strike the artery. Game over.

            The shot echoed across the night. Stiles hit the ground along with everyone else. Jackson's body twisted as it hit home but it didn't topple him. Another shot sounded.

            Stiles looked up to see Angela walking down the stairs, her gun stretched out before her. She pumped back the trigger; each shot perfectly hitting Jackson in the chest. He roared out in pain, rolling off the unlucky Greenburg. At first he started to square up against Angela but a shot hit him in the thigh and he buckled. He growled fiercely and leapt away, streaking down the pitch with beyond human speed.

            Everyone was too stunned to think of following after him. Angela was still striding across the pitch towards the fallen boy, the only person who was moving other than to scream or flee. Stiles came to his senses and ran up to her as she knelt down beside Greenburg.

            “Greenburg? Greenburg can you hear me? I need a medic!” she shouted to the crowd. Beneath his helmet Greenburg's eyes were flickering. He was bruised but conscious. After a moment Scott's Mom started running towards them.

            “I thought you said this was just about the game! Why the hell did you bring your gun?” said Stiles.

            “Because I always bring my gun,” said Angela taking Greenburg's pulse. “If I'd known this was going to happen I would have loaded it with something a little stronger. I've rectified that mistake.”

            Both Scott's Mom and Stiles' Dad arrived together. As Mrs McCall dropped down to do her job, the Sheriff dragged Angela up to do his.

            “What the hell was that! Did you just shoot at a crowd of innocent school kids?”

            “No. I fired on a known and extremely dangerous criminal. The criminal I am here tracking. We need to get a search party out. Pronto.”

            “You think I'm just going to let you fire off a gun in public and then take orders from you.”

            “Look at the boy! He was seconds from being cut to ribbons.”

            “With what? Did that guy have a knife? Because I didn't see one. You could have just shot an innocent man.”

            “An innocent man who was wearing a vest? He's not currently bleeding to death, doesn't that tell you something.”

            “I should arrest you right here, right now,” said his Dad.

            “The guy who attacked your son's team mate is running off into the woods right now and you want to arrest _me?”_

 _“You could have hit my son!”_ his Dad screamed at her. “Stiles are you okay? Why were you running at that guy?”

            Angela was losing control of the situation fast. They needed his Dad to listen before he started arresting all the wrong people.

          “Dad, I'm fine, see.” Stiles grabbed his father's wrist. “Don't worry about me. Do what Angela's asking you to.”

            He could feel the shiver in his conscious as his Dad's desires bent to his own. The Sheriff's eyes went black and he wobbled for a second, having to grab onto Stile's arm. He blinked as if emerging from a deep sleep.

            “Yeah. Maybe you're right. Angela, I mean Agent Weiss. What d'ya need.”

            She cast a thankful look at Stiles as she started listing off instructions to his Dad before he could question further, taking absolute charge of the situation at last. She needed to do damage control, keep up appearances. If there were going to be a dozen people in the woods looking for a werewolf without knowing it she needed to be at the front, else everyone was going to end up dead or worse. There was nothing he could do but watch. When his Dad darted off to radio in support, Angela grabbed him and hissed in his ear.

          “Get to Deaton. Get the cure. Get to Jackson. I'll keep them off for as long as I can, but if they find him first-”

            “We're all screwed, I get it.”

            She manoeuvred herself in close and he felt her press something cold and hard into his hand. Her gun. He locked eyes.

            “Just in case,” she said.

            Stiles ran towards the bleachers, shedding his padding as he went. Lydia cut him off before he could make a break for it.

            “Was that-”

            “Yes. That was Jackson.” She was trembling all over so he put his hands on her shoulders and held her tightly. “It's okay. I've got a plan and you know how well my plans always go.”

            He didn't have much of a plan, as he'd only had the ten second walk to think of it, and it was almost certain to fail but it was a plan none the less. That was better than nothing. Scott and Isaac came up beside him, both asking at once what was happening.

            “Jackson,” answered Stiles. “You two, get out into the woods. Scott, you lead them away from Jackson. Isaac, you tail him. He can't get far, even if those are ordinary bullets. Allison, do you have your bow handy?”

            “I keep one in the car. Seemed like it might be a good idea.” She was turning into quite the hunter.

            “Grab it.” He risked a glance at Lydia. He'd wrapped the gun in his jersey to hide it. It felt heavy in his hand. “Just in case. Lydia, go to the hospital. Keep an eye on Greenburg.”

            Stiles didn't give a crap about Greenburg, he just wanted Lydia out of Jackson's war path. For a second she looks rebellious but in the end she assented. He started to run towards the parking lot.

            “Where are you going?” Lydia called after him.

            “Deaton!”

            He pelted towards the parking lot but he wasn't the only one. The whole of the crowd had started running as soon as they heard shots being fired. The car park was gridlock and his car was right at the back. It would take him half an hour to get out, time he didn't have.

            “Crap!”

            A figure landed beside him. It was Derek.

            “My car is parked further down the road. Come on.”

            Stiles watched the receding leather clad back with confusion. What the hell was Derek doing here? Had he been watching? He didn't have time for that right now. Derek had a car. That was all that mattered.

            The Camaro was parked behind some bushes off of a side road five minutes down the way from school. There would be no chance of seeing it unless you knew it was there. Derek wanted to be damn sure no one knew he was at the school.

           As Derek opened the driver's door, Stiles neatly stepped in and plucked the keys out of his unsuspecting hands.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I'm driving,” said Stiles.

            “Like hell you are.”

            Stiles banged his hands on the steering wheel.

            “For Christ's sake Derek. This isn't about your precious god damn car or your freaking ego. I need to get to the surgery and you don't know about the road works on 5th or the accident that's going to happen on Main Street in about five minutes and the longer I sit here arguing with you, the longer my Dad is out in the woods chasing after an insane werewolf. Either get in the passenger seat or leave!”

            Stiles didn't wait for Derek to get in the car fully before he started driving off, so he landed awkwardly in the seat. Derek didn't say anything as Stiles crunched through the gears or clipped the curb. They both sat silently as Stiles sped through the night.

            It was Stiles who broke first.

            “What the hell were you doing there anyway?”

            “Where?”

            “At school. Who were you stalking now? Checking up to make sure your werewolves weren't about to kill anyone out there on the field?”

            Derek scrunched up his face in annoyance.

            “No. If you really must know I was there to watch you.”

            “Me? You know, if you’re going to turn into some crazy ass stalker could you tell me now so I can remake my window frame out of Mountain Ash.”

            “Fuck you Stiles. I was there because I go to all your games. Just because you decided you could throw me to the curb and let me go doesn't mean I have to let _you_ go.”

            Derek put his elbow on the window ledge and stared out at the trees rushing by. Stiles tried to steal a glance, but he was going too fast to take his eyes off the road for long.

            “You went to all of my games?” he asked.

            “Yes,” said Derek. “Ever since we started date... having sex. I park up just before the game and watch from the shadows. Happy now?”

            There was a part of Stiles bruised heart that was ecstatic. His head was completely confused.

            “You came to all my games.”

            “Yes.”

            “All of them.”

            “Yes!”

            “Then why didn't you just tell me?” he yelled. He flapped his elbows for emphasis, unwilling to take his hands from the wheel. “I don't get you Derek. You act so distant and aloof when we're together and never even give me the chance to get close but then you go and give me a quirky birthday present, come to all my games and wipe away my tears when I don't even know I'm crying. What is going on Derek?”

            Derek continued to stare out the window in silence.

            “Talk to me.”

            Nothing.

            “Why do you always have to be like this? Why can't you ever just trust someone? Why can't you just let me into that ridiculous head of yours?”

            “Because I'm emotionally constipated Stiles!” snapped Derek. “I'm not like you. I can't just open my mouth and let the contents of my brain fall out all over the place.”

            The force of Derek's confession took Stiles aback. He sat quietly, still trying to work out what all this meant. When Derek spoke again his voice was much more measured, but still strained with emotion.

            “When I was the age you are now Kate Argent used me and then tossed me aside. Then you come up and you tell me that I'm doing the same thing to you.”

            “What,” said Stiles angrily. “How is that even remotely the same? We're totally different to that.”

            “Really. Are we?” asked Derek. “I'm using you to get what I want even thought I don't want to. I want you to want it to. I want what I want to be what you want, and I want you to want it as much as I want it but I didn't want you to know that that was what I wanted or how much I wanted it.”

            “What the hell did you just say?” Stiles asked, waving one arm at Derek.

            Derek leaned back in his chair and threw his both hands over his face.

            “I'm starting to talk like you now. I mean-” Derek dropped his hands and stared at the dash. “You lost your Mom, right. You know what that does to someone. I lost my entire family then my uncle kills my sister, the only person I had left.”

            Stiles could hear something he'd never heard in Derek's voice before. Fear.

            “I'm scared Stiles. I'm scared that if I let someone else in, if I let you in, then-”

            Derek choked on the last words.

            “Then what?” asked Stiles. “You're scared I'm going to die?”

            “I'm scared I'll lose you,” Derek shouted. “I kept you at arm’s length, even though I knew it meant you'd leave me in the end. If I never had you it meant I could never lose you.”

            Stiles was flabbergasted. What was going on right now?

            “That makes precisely no sense. That makes less sense than the wanting not wanting thing you just said.”

            “I know Stiles! None of this makes sense to me. I know... I know.” All the fire had gone out of him. He was staring out the window again. “And I get it. You're with Lydia now. Even if you weren't you deserve someone who isn't a complete basket case.”

            Stiles waited a beat until he was calmer. He needed to say this right rather than make the mess of it that Derek was.

            “I'm a screw up too, Derek. And not because my Mom died, or all this werewolf crap, just because that's what I am. I screw up, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to go after the things I want. Hell most of the time that's why I'm a screw up, I do it and worry about the consequences later. Let me tell you though. I don't need to be clairvoyant to see that if you keep everyone at arm’s length, punishing yourself for Kate or whatever, you're going to end up alone.”

            Derek dropped his hand from the sill.

            “I know. Maybe it's what I deserve.”

            The heat rose inside Stiles again.

            “For the love of... Kate Argent was going to kill your family because she was a psychopath! Whether it was by setting fire to the house, snipping you one by one or by locking you up in the basement and torturing you slowly. It is not your fault.”

            Stiles swung into the car park of the surgery to see Deaton waiting there already. The vet walked over to Derek's door and opened it.

            “It's not quite ready yet but I can finish it on the way over. Derek, do you mind?”

            Derek got out without a word or backwards glance.

            “Have you got your phone?” Stiles asked. He'd had to make Derek get one to arrange their trysts. There was every chance he'd thrown it out with the great break up, but Derek nodded tersely. “Good. Isaac knows where Jackson is. Meet us there.”

            Derek looked at him. Stiles realised he'd been waiting for him to do that since they first got in the car.

            “You want me there?” he asked. It was a question with so many other questions wrapped inside.

            “Yes.” He flicked his eyes at Deaton. The man was busying himself with some complicated array of syringes. “We need all the help we can get.”

            _And I just need you._

            Stiles drove off, leaving Derek behind. In the rear view he watched Derek as he stood alone in the parking lot until he was around the corner and Stiles couldn't look back any more.


	29. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and the gang make it to Jackson with the cure, but someone else has beaten them to it.

            They abandoned the car just out of sight of the main road and ran to where Allison and Isaac were waiting on the edge of a cliff; Allison crouching, Isaac lying flat on the ground. With relief Stiles realised Derek wasn't there yet. Even with short cuts it would take the alpha a while to catch up. If he was coming at all.

            Peering off the precipice to the small clearing below he could make out the naked form of Jackson coiled up on the ground. He was licking his wounds. Literally. His leg was curled up around his body so that he could reach to lap at the bullet wound with his tongue.

            “How long has he been here?” Stiles asked in a breathy whisper. The wind was carrying their voices the opposite direction but Jackson was a werewolf, he might still hear them. Luckily he seemed to have other things on his mind.

            “About ten minutes,” said Allison. She stood with her bow ready to shoot at the drop of a hat.

            “Ten minutes. Shouldn't he have healed more by now?”

            “It's the virus,” said Deaton. “Werewolves can fight off normal rabies. The lyconic strain attacks the ability to heal. This cure kick starts the healing process.” He waved his syringe full of the finished cure at them.

            “Do you think it'll work?” asked Isaac.

            “I have no idea. I've only ever seen three other cases and those times they still looked human, they were just killing uncontrollably when in wolf form. This is different. He's gone over fully to the wolf. It might be he's in the latter stages, in which case it might be too late. It could be something completely different, in which case this cure is useless.”

            “What do we do then?” asked Allison. Her fingers clenched round her bow string.

            Stiles looked at the bundle in his hand. He unwrapped it carefully, heard them gasp when he revealed the gun. He removed the clip and checked the magazine. It was enamelled white, and the tip of the bullets were all shining silver rather than the usual copper colour. These were bullets to take down a werewolf. Permanently.

            He slammed the magazine back into place.

            “Just in case.”

            The coldness of his own voice scared him. He was starting to think like one of them. He flicked on the safety and slid the gun into his waist band.

            They lay down on the edge of the cliff. There was a path down the cliff about a little further along.

            “I was going to bring something to knock him out but I forgot in the rush,” said Deaton.

            “We could adapt an arrow,” suggested Allison. “Shoot him from up here.”

            “Good idea, but it needs to be directly into his vein or it won't take.”

            “Damn. Hang on.” Stiles looked forward into the future. He could see a dozen different scenarios, but they kept flickering under a veil of static and hurt his head. He pulled back, trying to look at the bigger picture. “Crap and damn.”

            “Future not looking to rosy?” asked Deaton.

            “All I can see is that they police are letting the dogs out. Scott won't be able to do anything about the scent. My Dad's going to be here in ten minutes. Plenty of time to cure a rampaging werewolf, right. Allison you stay up here and lay down cover fire if we need it.”

            “When did you become our great and fearless leader?” she chuckled. “Ordering us around and coming up with the plans.”

            “When you all realised that I was the only one around here who ever made any sense!” he retorted. “Isaac you come with me, _if you wouldn't mind_. When we get down there we'll- well we'll wing it.”

            “What could possibly go wrong?” asked Isaac as they both began to stand up.

            They both dropped back down to the ground at the same time, watching as the faeries seemed to drip out of the rocks and cliffs in the clearing below. Stiles thought he recognised one as Eoghan, but there were another two with him.

            “Well, will you look at this. If it isn't the little faery killer.”

            Jackson crouched defensively before leaping out at one of the other faeries. With a manic laugh the faery dodged out the way, making Jackson run straight into a tree. The trio continued to dance around the sick werewolf, making him hurt himself and get more and more worked up. They were playing with him.

            There was a flash of gold and suddenly Jackson was on the ground, howling as he writhed. His hands were bound with a golden wire; a whip that Eoghan held the other end of.

            “That's enough of that.” He yanked and Jackson's screams went up an octave. “So here he is. The little faery killer. So sick. So wounded. So lost and alone. He barely even knows what he is any more.”

            Eoghan crouched down beside Jackson and ran his hand down the side of the werewolf's face even as Jackson bit and snapped at him.

            “Not that you ever knew in the first place. Did ya? Your ma was a whore, did you know that?”

            The other two started to throw out insults of their own, calling him a half breed and an abomination.

            “She was supposed to be mine.” He pulled the whip tighter. “She was supposed to be my wife, but she decided she wanted to feel the sun's burn and gets herself knocked up by a filthy human. The lives of humans are so boring. So short and meaningless. Get born, grow up, propagate the race and then depart the world leaving no impression that you were ever there. The only fun to be had with them is tearing them apart.”

            Eoghan raked his nails across Jackson's face. Even from here Stiles could see the blood spatter.

            “What shall we do with him lads?” asked Eoghan. “Shall we make him dance? Make him scream? Return his senses to him and let him look upon all that he's done.”

            “You're going to let him go.”

            Stiles had started down the path when they'd bound Jackson with the whip. They were so caught up in their fun they hadn't noticed him.

            “If it isn't the noble Councilman come to pay a call.” Eoghan did a flourishing bow, but his face was still twisted with hate. “To what do we owe this rarest of pleasures?”

            “You are torturing someone. Let them go.”

            Eoghan tugged on the whip so that Jackson whimpered.

            “This pathetic little sack of bones? He's already half dead. Why not let us have our fun with him first.”

            “He's not half dead. We have a cure-”

            Stiles halted mid-sentence and looked back up at the cliff. He'd forgotten to get the cure off Deaton. Isaac took the syringe off of the vet and swung himself down, climbing down the rock as if it were a ladder.

            “A veritable greeting party,” said Eoghan. Isaac shifted, growling low. “I'm not sure about you lads, but I am beginning to feel just the littlest bit unwelcome here.”

            “Let. Him. Go.” Stiles reached into his shirt and pulled out the pendant his grandfather gave him. “I am a member of the Weiss Rat. Let him go.”

            “You might be White,” Eoghan's teeth were bared, “but you're green as hell. You don't know a damn thing about what that symbol you're holding means. What are the terms of parley between our two people? You don't know do you? You don't even know what your dear old aunt and her little helper are talking to us about.”

            Stiles could feel the control slipping away from him. He didn't have his coat with him, what was he? Was that all he was, the entire source of his new power? A piece of clothing and a lump of iron he didn't even understand?

            Iron. Steel.

            “Allison.”

            The first shaft buried itself in one of the hench faeries shoulders, sliding through like it was butter. He started screaming, scrabbling at the arrow and trying to pull it out.

            “Steel tipped. My marksman up there is a crack shot. One of those in your heart or your head and that's it. No more Mr. Nicefaery.”

            Eoghan looked at his kin with disgust, kicking the writhing fellow in the stomach.

            “Get up you pansy. Fine. You've made your point. You can have your lad. It's only to be expected, the council taking the side of the human over a faery, even when the human is half ours.”

            “He might be half faery, but he's half human too,” said Stiles. “Unless you want to go King Solomon on this situation, I suggest you go.”

            Eoghan grinned at him, showing all his teeth. The other faery was helping his injured friend as they melted away into the scenery.

            “You should know one thing about the Tuatha De Danann. We never forgive and we never forget. He may be half human but he is wholly mentally defective. I'll leave you to your own games, little boy.”

            Eohgan flicked the whip and the bonds at Jackson's wrists fell loose. The werewolf scrambled up on all fours, stalking towards them. His teeth were bigger than Stiles remembered, fangs so large he couldn't close his mouth properly, his bright blue eyes were focused directly on Stiles.

            “Have fun,” said Eoghan as he jumped up and disappeared just as Jackson surged forward.


	30. A Life Unlived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final show down with Jackson, but which will it be. Kill or cure?

            Stiles dodged sideways, avoiding Jackson's teeth as he barrelled onward. Isaac leapt on top of Jackson, struggling to get the other wolf pinned down, but he reared up and flung Isaac away like he was a scrap of cloth.

            “Stand back!” shouted Allison.

            The bolt struck Jackson in the leg, making him roar in anger. He snapped off the shaft, leaving the head of the arrow stuck in his flesh. There were still welts left on ankles and blood was dripping down his chest from the bullet holes. If they could injure him enough, them might be able to hold him down long enough to get the cure into him. Damn, if only Stiles had his knife on him. He could feel the cold hardness of the gun against his hip and pulled it out. He could fire off a few more rounds, but these bullets were werewolf killers and he didn't know what effect these would have. He could end up killing Jackson.

            “Keep firing,” he yelled up to Allison but Jackson swung to the sound and ran at him.

            Stiles was quick enough to crack him across the skull with the butt of his gun. Jackson staggered, dazed but still too lucid to risk trying to capture him.

            Isaac was on his feet again, circling him.

            “Think you can get close enough to ham string him?” called out Stiles.

            Isaac sprung forward, aiming low. He lashed out at Jackson's legs and there was a spray of blood as his claws hit home. Jackson staggered and Stiles saw his chance. If he ran forward now, at this specific angle he could ram the syringe right into Jackson's-

            The loose leaf litter skittered under his feet and he tripped. Instead of the needling piercing skin like it should have done, Jackson caught his arm. The points of Jackson's claws dug deep into Stiles' flesh making his hand spasm and drop the syringe.

            Jackson hauled Stiles in close, opening his jaws ready to bite. Stiles pulled against him but Jackson only held tighter and a new pain shot up his arm, making Stiles scream in agony. The werewolf's teeth were about to bite down on his neck and he was too lost in pain to do anything about it.

            Another arrow thumped into the back of Jackson's shoulder. With a roar he let go of Stiles and staggered back, scrabbling like a dog after its tail as he tried to claw at the shaft. Stiles backed away cradling his right arm, pretty sure it was broken. He picked up the gun with his right hand but holding it sent shooting pains up his arm. Could he shoot cack handed if the need came? He prayed he'd never find out and shoved the gun back into his waist band.

            Jackson backed into the cliff, driving the arrow right the way through his shoulder. He was still squealing but he snapped the head off and threw it on the ground. The plan of trying to grind him down until they could hold him down wasn't working. If anything he was more energetic the more that they hurt him. Jackson was advancing on Isaac. The battle was beginning to take its toll. Isaac was limping, not giving his body enough time to fully recover between bouts with Jackson. They should have called in Erica and Boyd. They should have waited for Derek. Instead Isaac and Jackson were going to end up killing each other.

            Stiles hugged his throbbing arm against himself, feeling metal on his chest. The whistle his aunt had given him. The syringe was still lying on the ground between himself and the duelling werewolves. A distraction. That's all he needed.

            Stiles blew on the whistle as hard as he could, struggling back to his feet. Both Isaac and Jackson threw themselves backwards, hands over their ears. Stiles blew on the whistle again as he grabbed the syringe and kept on blowing as he walked towards Jackson but while Isaac was still writhing, Jackson was fighting back to his feet shaking his head. Stiles ran but it was too late. When he reached Jackson the werewolf didn't seem to hear the sound any more. He swung a blow at the still prostrate Isaac, knocking him out cold. Jackson turned on Stiles, who dove out the way but dropped the syringe again as he rolled. He felt the gun go flying out of his waistband and skitter away across the forest floor. He tried to support himself on his broken arm, collapsing into a pile.

            When he got back on his feet Stiles wove around Jackson, dodging this way and that, avoiding his dives while trying to get back to the fallen cure. He kept getting close but Jackson was always there, right where he needed to be.

            Then Stiles screwed up. He wasn't looking ahead anymore and rolled left when he should have gone right and struck his arm against the cliff wall. The pain paralysed him. He couldn't breathe and in the small time he needed to recover Jackson was on him. He rolled and fought but couldn't get loose. It took everything he had to keep Jackson at bay. His good hand scrabbled for a rock, a stick, anything he could use as a weapon.

            His fingers closed around the handle of the gun.

            He swung it round again and hit Jackson square in the temple, allowing himself enough time to wriggle away and fumble off the safety catch. The grip was all wrong for his left hand, but it was good enough. He put his finger on the trigger and prepared to fire straight into Jackson's chest.

            _Standing with Lydia on the platform as they were crowned king and queen of their senior prom._

_Playing poker with Danny and the boys while they laughed and drank beer._

_Holding up the cup his college lacrosse team had just won and cheering loudly._

_Having a fight about the dishes while a baby upstairs started crying._

_Grey haired and bleary eyed as he stood beside a grinning young woman with red hair in a wedding dress, ready to lead her down the aisle._

Stiles let the gun slide sideways out of his hand, unable to take that life as yet unlived. Not while there was still another way.

            He just needed more time but Jackson was already in his face getting ready to tear and rend. Stiles closed his eyes and waited for it to come.

            There was a blur of air and Stiles felt Jackson's weight fall from off the top of him. He opened his eyes to see a black shape beating Jackson against the ground.

            “Derek,” he whispered.

            The sight of Jackson biting down on Derek's arm shocked him back. The alpha was faring better than Isaac had been but he was still struggling. Stiles managed to claw his way across to the syringe. Miraculously it was still whole. He crouched near to the tousling pair waiting for his chance.

            Jackson clawed Derek across the face, making him fall to the ground. Stiles screamed but knew there was nothing he could do but watch as Jackson knelt down on Derek's chest and howled in triumph.

            The second shone gold. Stiles surged forward, wrapped his arm around Jackson's neck and pushed the needle deep into his jugular. The man wolf went rigid in an instant then fell sideways, convulsing on the floor of the forest. Stiles watched as he began to foam and froth at the mouth, spasming with each shock that came to him until he finally lay deathly still.

            For a second the world was silent. Then the welts on Jackson's wrist began to fade. The wounds in his chest closed up and healed. The bruises that covered his body disappeared.

            There was a groan behind him. Stiles turned to see Derek arch his back against the ground. Stiles rushed over and went to his knees beside him, checking Derek's face, normal again, for the damage. Jackson hadn't gone deep enough to gouge an eye, even a were’ probably couldn't heal that, but there were deep cuts across Derek's face. As Stiles watched, the blood ran backwards up Derek's face into the cuts as they healed. Stiles ran his fingers across the fading scars. It was like they had never been there. Derek blinked, seeing Stiles there. He reached up and held Stiles wrist as he tried to pull away, their eyes locked together with the thousand things they couldn't say.

            “Out the way.”

            Deaton pushed Stiles out the way and forced Derek's face into the ground, exposing his neck. He drove a second syringe into his vein before stepping back. Derek's hand shot to his neck as he scowled at the vet.

            “What the hell was that!”

            “Another dose of the cure. You were bitten. I had to be sure. Stiles, you should probably get a rabies shot too.”

            Derek jumped to his feet and walked towards Jackson. He was naked and out cold. Allison was helping Isaac back to his feet before going over to check on Jackson.

            “You could have just asked,” Derek muttered.

            “You were grabbing at Stiles. I had to make sure you weren't already infected.”

            They pointedly didn't look at each other but Stiles knew that Derek could hear the skip of his heart beat just as he knew Derek's was skipping too.

            “He's fine,” said Allison looking up from where Jackson was lying. He was human again and completely naked.

            “You don't seem to upset by the sight of Jackson's man junk,” said Stiles. “I certainly am.”

            “Unfortunately not the first time I've seen it,” said Allison as she took of her scarf and draped it across his groin so he had some degree of dignity. Did Scott know that? Stiles wasn't about to ask for the details.

            “Did it work?” asked Derek. He stepped in closer to Stiles. Stiles really couldn't bring himself to care, he was just glad that Derek was alright.

            “Looks like it,” said Deaton.

            The vet shook Jackson's shoulder and called his name. Jackson's face scrunched up as he came to, shaking his head back and forth.

            “Lydia,” he croaked trying to sit up.

            “Easy now,” soothed Deaton. “Lie back down. You're going to be alright. Don't worry.”

            Jackson tilted his head to look at them all, then down at his own body.

            “Why am I in the woods? With you guys? Naked?”

            Allison laughed, burying her face in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Deaton began to explain when all three werewolves swivelled towards the trees, alert. Scott ran out at them a moment later.

            “I held them off as long as I could,” he panted.

            “How long?” asked Derek.

            “A minute? Maybe two. Not long. They heard the noise you guys were making.”

            Derek and Deaton stooped to help Jackson to his feet, but it was like he was drunk. His legs weren't working properly and he couldn't even stand, much less run from police dogs. Neither was Stiles with his arm this badly broken.

            “Go,” Stiles said. “Derek, Isaac, get out of here. Scott take Allison. Doc, you too. Just run.”

            “No,” said Derek definitively. Deaton was already on his way back up the path, but the other three were hesitating.

            “I'm not doing this to be noble Derek. I'm pretty sure my arm is broken, and Jackson's not going anywhere either. My Dad's already accepted the fact that I am going to be the centre of anything weird going on in this town. He'd be worried if I wasn't here.”

            “Come on Derek,” said Isaac pulling on his arm. Scott and Allison were making their exit, casting looks back as they went but Derek was refusing to budge. Stiles could hear barking.

            “Derek. If my Dad finds you here he'll _never_ trust you. Please, _just go!”_

            Stiles didn't know what had done it but Derek was backing away. He was still watching Stiles as he shifted before bolting deeper into the woods.


	31. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight may be over but Stiles still has a lot on his mind.

            The beam of a flash light dazzled Stiles as the line of police approached and he squinted against it.

            “Stiles,” came his father's voice, tinged with the familiar sting of unsurprised disappointment.

            “Hey.”

            “You got a decent excuse this time, or will it be more sarcasm?”

            “Oh. You know me. Just violating the terms of my restriction order again. Does it still count if they've been pronounced dead?”

            He pointed down to where Jackson was propped up against the cliff face. The Sheriff lowered his gun, squinting into the gloom. Jackson turned from the light sharply, throwing his hand up over his face.

            “Is that... oh my God.”

            His Dad ran forward, stripping off his jacket offering it to Jackson. They'd quickly disposed of the remains of Jackson's jersey that would pin him to Greenburg's attack, so Jackson was dressed in nothing but a scarf and a smile. As everyone rushed over towards the until-recently-dead missing person, Stiles limped over to where his aunt was surreptitiously picking up the gun he'd dropped earlier. She checked the magazine before replacing it in her holster.

            “Didn't fire?”

            “Nope. Followed your advice instead and saw the man. Couldn't do it after that.”

            She nodded grimly.

            “Good. Sometimes you have to choose between what is right and what is easy. Let's go get that arm seen to.”

            He handed her the keys and started to lead her towards Derek's Camaro when he stopped.

            “Did you steal that from Dumbledore?”

            “Shut up,” said Angela.

           

*****

           

            They reached the hospital to find Mr Whittemore surrounded by a hoard of cameras. When Jackson had 'died' he'd dedicated a huge amount of time to lambasting the 'shoddy police department of this, our once great town'. This seemed to be another one of his opportunities to have a go at the Sheriff, unable to stop his own sister in law from opening fire on a crowd of school children.

            Stiles wanted to disappear, knowing what would happen when he and Angela stepped into view. He tried to hide himself in the shadows but he noticed Lydia hanging on the edge of the crowd. She caught sight of him and waved, attracting the attention of a few of the crowd. One recognised the 'crazed federal agent', and the cameras turned on them.

            They were spared the wrath of Mr Whittemore though by the arrival of several police cars. His Dad stepped out first, making the attorney veer his course. He was halfway through demanding an answer when he froze.

            Jackson stepped out of the car.

            As the camera flashes went wild and father reached out to long lost son, Stiles full attention was on Lydia. She was backing away into the wall, her fingers against her lips. He longed to rush over there and comfort her, but that wasn't his job any more. Jackson's head tilted up as he scented her.

            “Lydia?” he said quietly.

            She ran forward and threw herself around him, sobbing as they two of them clung to each other tightly.

            “Quickly,” whispered Angela, “before the ER goes mad over that one.”

            She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and they slunk round the back of the reporters who suddenly had the story of the year.

           

*****

 

            He'd broken one of the bones in his lower arm. He was waiting for them to slap a cast on when Lydia found him. As soon as she saw her approach, Angela made a strategic coffee run.

            “You've looked better,” said Lydia.

            “I've looked worse. At least this time I don't have to stay overnight. Hospital couture is really not my style.”

            “I know. Sometimes I think the reason I went for that walk naked was just to get out of my hospital gown.”

            She sat down on the chair next to him. Her make-up was smudged but she'd taken the time to carefully wipe up her run mascara before she found him.

            “Thank you,” she said.

            “Don't mention it. It's kinda my job now.”

            She leant on his shoulder but he hissed in pain as she jogged his arm. It had been a few hours since his first dose of pain meds and they hadn't gotten round to giving him the second yet.

            “Sorry,” she said leaning away again. “But I don't mean just for Jackson. I mean for everything.”

            “It was a pleasure,” he said.

            “I meant what I said. One day you'll make some girl a great boyfriend. Or some guy.”

            She threw out the comment letting it hang there and it didn't seem to bother him. If anything he was a little relieved.

            “Here's to hoping.”

            She kissed him on the cheek and hopped back up again.

            “I better get back to Jackson. He's kind of freaked out. He can't remember anything from the last month or so and they keep asking him all these questions. You going to be alright on your own?”

            “I'll be alright. I should let you go anyway. Don't want to make your boyfriend jealous.”

            Lydia threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Ignoring the pain in his arm he hugged her right back before she walked off down the corridor again.

            If one wants to go the other lets them go. Stiles wondered which one of them was which.

 

*****

 

            It was nearly 4am when they got home. His Dad had come and relieved Angela, sending her off to sort out the mess she had created. It had taken forever to get through the system without Angela throwing her weight around and flirting with every nurse, doctor and orderly to help get them seen sooner. It had given him and his Dad a nice long time to chat about how fond Stiles was of running slap bang into the middle of police investigations.

            He was home now. That was the important thing. He really wanted to jump into the shower and possibly fall asleep in there but he had this stupid cast on that was going to ruin his life for the next two months. At least when he'd cracked his rib he could do normal things like take a shower. Now he couldn't even write his own name. Jesus, he was going to have to jerk off with his left hand and he knew how crappy he was at that. No matter how much he tried to become an ambidextrous masturbator, it was never quite the same.

            He was thinking about sex and thinking about sex meant he was soon thinking about Derek. After tonight he wasn't sure what he thought about Derek anymore. He was too tired to think about anything right now.

            When the knock came at the window, Stiles was attempting to get undressed for bed.

            “Come on in,” he said. He'd been expecting the visit and had left the window open waiting. Usually that was enough of an invitation. The knock was new.

            Derek dropped down onto the carpet without a sound.

            “Hey,” he said.

            “Hey,” said Stiles as he tried to undo his belt one handed. He threw up his hands in frustration. “Goddamn it!”

            Derek was there in front of him. He flicked the leather undone, a motion he'd done countless times before. His fingers rested on the edge of Stiles waistband for a moment before he stepped back.

            “Thanks,” said Stiles. “You know I used to be such a skinny runt that these used to just fall right off, even with a belt.”

            He kicked off his jeans and bent over to pick them up again, accidentally giving Derek a perfect view of his ass.

            “I find that hard to imagine.”

            Stiles threw his clothes in the hamper and collapsed backwards on his bed. He was so very, very tired.

            “I should go,” said Derek. “I just... I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You are, aren't you?”

            Stiles nodded, waving his arm.

            “Apart from this, nothing that a few weeks of sleep won't fix. Incidentally rabies shots are a _bitch_.”

            “Okay then. I'll... I'll leave you alone.”

            Derek's leg was half way out the window when Stiles spoke.

            “Stay.”

            It was barely a whisper but Derek froze where he was, neither carrying on out the window nor stepping back into the room.

            “Please,” Stiles asked. “Just stay.”

            Derek slowly moved his leg back in but kept his hand on the edge of the frame.

            “I thought you said-”

            “I know what I said,” said Stiles, “but I'm too tired. Not being with you is too exhausting.”

            The wolf was still hovering by the exit.

            “I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore?”

            Stiles sat back up again, meeting Derek's gaze.

            “I always wanted to be with you Derek. I thought that you didn't want to be with me. _Really_ be with me.”

            Derek raised his eyes.

            “I do. I always did.”

            “Then stay.”

            Derek slowly crossed the room and stood opposite Stiles. Stiles reached up with his good hand and pulled Derek close to him by the back of the neck. Their kiss filled a need and a longing that had nothing to do with lust. Afterwards Stiles pulled back the covers and slipped in between the sheets. Derek quickly stripped down to his boxers, crawled in beside him and they slept together for the first time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. I told you to trust me!


	32. And Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally wakes to find Derek lying beside him, but there's still a lot the need to *discuss*.

             Stiles woke up sometime later that morning spread out across the bed, a different limb sticking out over each side. Derek was curled up against his side, head resting in the crook of his armpit. He looked like a dog. Or a wolf. It was one of the few times Stiles had ever seen Derek's face without a scowl or a frown. He looked serene.

            Stiles twisted so that he could take a closer look at the man who was asleep next to him but he caught his cast on the edge of the bed, jogging it. He shrieked in pain and Derek was suddenly fully awake beside him.

            “What's wrong?”

            “Nothing,” said Stiles. “Go back to sleep.”

            Derek looked over his chest to the clock on the side.

            “It's two in the afternoon.”

            “Exactly. Practically still night. We should stay in bed for at least another four hours.”

            Stiles settled back down, slinging an arm around Derek's muscular shoulders. Derek hung his head, resting his forehead against Stiles shoulder.

            “You're going to be the death-”

            His eyes darted to the door.

            “What is it?” asked Stiles.

            “Your Dad.”

            Derek launched himself out of Stiles' bed and hid himself in the wardrobe. There was a knock at the door.

            “I'm still in bed!” Stiles called but his Dad came in anyway.

            “I know you are you lazy ass. I heard you shout.”

            Stiles waved his right arm in the air.

            “I forgot. Snagged it.”

            “I think you might end up being the first person in history to break their arm _because_ they have a cast on.”

            “I've always strived to be trend setter,” said Stiles proudly. He suddenly realised that Derek's clothes were somewhere on his floor. Crap. What if his Dad saw? No. Don't look. That'll only draw attention. “What's up Daddio?”

            ‘Daddio?’ thought Stiles.

            His Dad sat down on the end of the bed.

            “Well I've spent most of this morning trying to sort out the mess from last night, even though it's my day off. I feel like crap and I still have a mountain of paperwork to get back to tomorrow.”

            Stiles felt a sudden wave of guilt. A lot of that paperwork was probably to do with finding your son standing in the middle of an on-going investigation. Again. But hey! At least he'd helped turn the missing corpse into a found live person. Which probably had its own share of paperwork.

            “Sorry,” Stiles settled on, unable to put his twisted feelings into words.

            “It's fine. I'm getting used to this stuff. I just feel like with all the hours I'm putting in I never get to see you anymore. No wonder you're off running through the woods every other night.”

            This was a conversation he knew he and his Dad needed to have, but Stiles was very aware that Derek was hiding in his wardrobe, listening to every word. Actually maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe he didn't mind letting Derek peep in on this little slice of his personal business.

            “No, I'm pretty sure I would have done that anyway.”

            “Still not going to tell me why you felt the need to go running after a dangerous criminal on your own?”

            Stiles shrugged.

            “Seemed like a good idea at the time?” he put forward.

            His dad punched Stiles in the upper arm and he cowered in pain, despite the fact his cast only went to the elbow.

          “Ow. You're not allowed to be mean to me. I'm injured see. Poor little injured Stiles. Can't even take a shower.”

            “Yeah I smell that,” he Dad said leaning away. “So. Does poor little injured Stiles feel like spending the Dad with his poor old decrepit Dad eating junk food and watching old movies?”

            Stiles couldn't help but look towards the wardrobe. He'd had different plans for today. Sexy plans. Okay, a long conversation about feelings and emotions should probably come first, but then sexy plans. But if he was honest spending the day with his Dad watching crappy movies for the hundredth time sounded pretty good too.

            “Yeah. Sure. Let me go attempt a sponge bath and I'll meet you downstairs. You think they'd supply a sexy nurse to help with the sponge baths, wouldn't you.”

            His Dad rubbed his head for good luck and headed out the room.

            “Don't worry Derek. You can come out the closet now,” said Stiles.

            Derek stuck his head out round the door and gave the room a quick sweep.

            “How long were you waiting to say that,” said Derek.

            He padded across the room and knelt up on Stiles' bed, wrapping his arms around his waist and drawing him in to a kiss that made Stiles' whole body melt. Stiles broke it off with a quick bite of Derek's lip.

            “Stop. You're making me crazy,” Stiles said. Already half delirious from just a kiss, it was going to have to be a very cold sponge bath.

            “Says the man blowing me off for a date with his Dad.”

            Stiles ran his nose along the side of Derek's.

            “You don't mind do you?”

            Derek turned away, saddened.

            “You do... do you want me to go? If last night was just a one time thing-”

            Stiles forced Derek's face back towards him.

            “Derek. I was wrong to break up with you. I should have found out what you wanted, what you felt, rather than just assume I already did. I thought you just wanted sex-”

            “That's what I thought you wanted!” said Derek.

            “It's like a crappy romantic comedy. Except instead of comedy it's werewolves and bloody, bloody battles in the woods and instead of romance, it’s a whole heap of misery and misunderstanding.”

            Derek shook his head, the tip of Stiles' nose rubbing back and forth across the ridge of his own.

            “At least romantic comedies always get a happy ending. Go have fun with your Dad. I should check on Jackson anyway, though I'd much rather be here with you.”

            “You could always give me a hand with the sponge bath, oh sexy nurse,” Stiles said into Derek's lips.

            “I think that might be counterproductive. I'll come back tonight.”

            “Through the window again Edward?”

            Derek grabbed Stiles' shoulders and pushed him away.

            “You ever make a Twilight reference again and I will be the one to break your other arm.”

            “I worry about our relationship sometimes. You seem to spend a lot of time threatening me,” said Stiles, but he was smiling as he spoke. For all his bluster Derek had never hurt him, not physically. Stiles knew that he never would. Casual threats of violence were just part of who Derek was. It would take time to change that, if Stiles even wanted to.

            Derek pulled him in for a shorter, rougher kiss and then got dressed.

            “Careful no one sees you sparkling,” Stiles called out after him as he jumped through the window.

 

*****

 

            Movie and junk food day with Dad had turned out to be a resounding success. They'd gone through the classics, starting with _RoboCob_ and _Aliens_ over the greasiest pizza Stiles had ever seen. He'd shouted at his Dad every time he reached for another slice, while simultaneously stuffing his own face. At once point he'd rammed an entire slice of pizza into his face in one go to stop his Dad from having it.

            They finished off with _Tropic Thunder_ , which always made them both laugh and Stiles might have joined in with Tom Cruise's stupid dance, but that was no way to prove that. As the credits were rolling his Dad was already nodding off in his chair. Stiles wasn't sure if his Dad had actually gone to bed last night or just fallen asleep on the sofa, but either way _he'd_ not been able to sleep for ten hours in the arms of a hunky werewolf last night.

            Stiles ordered his Dad to bed, firing off a text to Derek as soon as he was down for the count. Stiles was wired, bouncing off the walls as he waited for the shadow at his window. When it finally appeared Stiles didn't even wait for Derek to fully enter the room before launching himself at him. Derek was shirtless before they'd even said hello.

            “We have to keep it down,” said Stiles around Derek's lips. “My Dad's home. Asleep, but home.”

            It was the first time they'd messed around while Stiles' Dad wasn't at work but there wasn't a chance in hell that Stiles was going to wait for his Dad's schedule to come around again. Derek laughed at Stiles' urgency.

            A cold wind blew across Stiles back as Derek helped him relieve himself of his shirt. The window was still open. With a grunt Stiles tore himself off of Derek and ran over to close it, pulling the curtains shut for good measure.

            Derek was lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, one foot on the bed. He was like a freaking model. Stiles fell on him, ravaging Derek with his mouth.

          “Woah there,” Derek said rolling Stiles off gently so they were lying side by side. “I take it your glad to see me.”

            “Yeah,” said Stiles leaning in again. “So glad.”           

            Derek put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. It seemed to be difficult for him to do, which made Stiles feel slightly better about the fact he was cutting into time that could be spent kissing.

            “I thought we agreed the problem was that we just jumped on each other and never talked?” said Derek. His eyes never left Stiles' lips and he raised a finger to rub over them.

            Stiles groaned. Why did Derek have to choose _now_ to become the voice of reason here?

            “Sorry. It's just I've been holding back for so long I just- God! I just want to rub myself all over you.”

            Derek whimpered as Stiles pressed himself in close again. Being the reasonable one wasn't always so easy.

            “How was your day with your Dad,” Derek grumbled. His voice was low and rumbling.

            “Can we not talk about my Dad when I'm so horny I might just explode if you don't touch me like right now?”

            Derek threw himself on top of Stiles and kissed him like when they first started seeing each other. All fire and passion, everything else thrown to the wind.

            “Talk after,” said Derek

            “Nugh-uh!” replied Stiles as Derek began to rub him through his pants.

            Stiles let Derek undo his belt again, watching the man’s ab muscles as he reared back to do his own. They were so perfect. Then they were both naked rubbing together against Stiles' sheets. Stiles reached down between them without thinking, hitting his cast against Derek's side.

            “Sorry,” he laughed.

            “It's fine,” Derek said.

            Derek put his hand around their twin erections and started to move together. His hands were stronger than Stiles' but his fingers were shorter, so he struggled to get his hands around them both and he had to press in harder to get the friction right. And it was right. It was so very, very right.

            “Oh God,” said Stiles, arching back.

            “I'm glad you like that. We'll have to be creative if we can't have sex for the next six to eight weeks.”

            Stiles shot back, staring at Derek.

            “What?”

            Derek blinked at him in confusion.

            “Well I'm not going to hold back and stay away from you while you're arm heals up this time. We are going to have to come up with some new ways to get it on.”

            What was he talking about? He'd broken his arm, not his dick! He could do everything just fine. Except giving a handjob, of course.

            Derek's face wobbled as he tried to suppress a smile.

            “That was a joke!” said Stiles. “Oh my God. You are not allowed to attempt humour any more. You are seriously unfunny.”

            Stiles hit him in the head with a pillow. Derek laughed, his whole face forming his smile. The effect was wondrous and made flips happen in Stiles chest that he was completely unprepared for.

            “Woah,” said Stiles. “You definitely should smile more. Smiling is definitely good on you.”

            Derek laughed in his throat and drew Stiles in closer. He kissed him slowly on the mouth, rubbing his hands sensually up and down Stiles' back.

            “You make me want to smile. All the time. Even when you’re not there and I'm just thinking about you.”

            “Who’d have guessed you were a closet romantic?”

            Stiles let Derek roll him over so that Derek was on top. The werewolf tried to pin his arms gently, but the cast stopped him. Instead he ran his fingers down Stiles' arms, stopping at every sensitive point he'd learned, searching for new ones. He moved down Stiles' torso, rubbing and kissing his way, making sure his map of Stiles' body was memorised and perfect. It was almost as if he was trying to set it firmly in his memory in case Stiles decided to leave again but he wasn't going to do that. He could never do that. All this split had shown Stiles was that he was Derek's to the core of his being, and nothing could change that any time soon. It might prove his downfall, but right now, they were together and that was all that mattered.

            Derek's stubble made Stiles whole body alive with sensation as it scratched across his abdomen. Stiles couldn't help raising his hips, his stupidly hard cock bumping into Derek's shoulder as he crouched between Stiles' legs.

            “Please Derek. Please I can't take it-”

            His sentence cut off in a gasp as Derek took him in his mouth. He was unpractised and used too much teeth, but it was only the second blow job Stiles had ever had and it was currently ranked number one in that short list.  Stiles reached down to run his hands through Derek's hair only to clonk him in the head with his cast.

            Derek pulled up for a second and looked at him with disbelief.

            “Sorry,” said Stiles. “Carry on, carry on.”

            Derek shook his head and got back to work. Derek's hands were working his balls and stroking his thigh. It was intense but Stiles wanted more. He wanted something inside him. He needed it, he wanted Derek's big hard cock slamming into him.

            “Crap,” Stiles cried, sitting up quickly.

            Sitting up quickly when receiving a blowjob from a werewolf who liked to use their teeth too much is a very stupid thing to do. Derek's tooth snagged Stiles' soft skin and he cried out. He clamped his hand over his mouth, remembering that his Dad was sleeping just down the hall. This was not how he wanted his father to find out about him and Derek.

            “Shit, you okay?” said Derek.

            Looking down the length of his own body at Derek's expectant face between his thighs, lips still wet with saliva, quickly replaced whatever of his erection the teeth had taken away.

            “Yeah. It's, um... I just remembered I forgot to get any more condoms.”

            How could he have been so stupid! He hadn't thought to get more when he and Lydia were dating. They'd never gotten to the point where it would be an issue. There was a massive bag of them currently sitting in his locker at school that the clinic had given him, waiting to be brought home. Now he was here with the man he'd been thinking about for the last god knows how long and he couldn't have sex with him!

            “Oh,” said Derek a little crest fallen.

            Derek pulled himself up onto the bed and crawled along Stiles body. The steady movement of his muscles hypnotised Stiles until Derek's face was back over his own, body pressing against body. Derek teased him with his mouth, moving into kiss him, then snatching it away at the last minute.

            “You're killing me Derek,” Stiles whispered when Derek brushed his lips with his own.

            “Can I ask you a question?”

            “Anything,” Stiles said. “As long as you stay right here in this bed, ask anything you want.”

            “Did you have sex with Lydia?”

            Stiles eyes snapped open as he sobered. Derek was looking at him: not worried, not angry, just curious.

            “What? Why do you want to know that?”

            Derek looked up at him through his eyelashes. It made Stiles want to tell him the deepest darkest secrets of his soul.

            “I just want to know.”

            “No. We tried but it didn't work. She kept thinking of Jackson and I kept thinking of you.”

            Derek smiled another one of those belly flip inducing smiles and Stiles knew he'd said the right thing. It was the truth, and Derek knew that.

            They kissed again, Derek pressing his tongue into Stiles mouth, pushing against Stiles' own as they danced together, neither forcing or submitting, but both working together. It was the best kiss that Stiles had ever had.

            “What was that for?”

            Derek was looking at a point on Stiles collar bone as he ran his thumb over it.

            “Do you remember the STI clinic that the Council was running?”

            “Why hello there subject change,” said Stiles. “Yes. I remember it vividly with the prodding and the poking and the things going... up. Is now really the time to be bringing that up?”

            Derek smiled fondly. Stiles was so glad his discomfort amused him.

            “When I found out there were Sentinels nurses I went along. Got the all clear a few days ago.”

            Stiles frowned at him.

            “Wouldn't that have been after we broke up?” he asked.

            Derek nodded slowly.

            “I always hoped. It's why I kept pushing, kept trying to make you see what you really wanted even when I couldn’t let you know what _I_ wanted. I wanted you back.”

            Stiles reached up and stroked the side of Derek's face until he looked back. His eyes were sad again.

            “I'm glad you did,” said Stiles.

            He coaxed Derek back down so that he could nuzzle into his favourite part of Derek's neck.

            “So. Do you want to?” Derek asked nervously. “You don't have to if you don't want to but-”

            “I trust you Derek,” said Stiles, kissing the line of his jaw. “I don't want anyone but you.”

            Derek snared up Stiles' chin and kissed him on the lips.

            “Good,” said Derek. “I want to feel you when you come inside of me.”

            “Kinky. Wait. When I what!” Stiles stuttered. “When I... in you... you mean me...”

            Derek laughed.

            “I figure it might be a bit easier this way round. With your arm.”

            “Oh,” said Stiles. He was a little wounded. He'd hoped that Derek had long harboured some secret desire for Stiles to take control for once, abandon himself to his lovers every whim.

            “And I always wanted to try before,” Derek continued. “I was just afraid to ask in case... I don't know. It was probably a stupid alpha complex thing.”

            Jackpot!

            Derek started to kiss him on the mouth again, gently stroking down Stiles' left arm. He pulled it up and placed it on his ass, coaxing Stiles' fingers to feel along the crack, toying with him. It was awkward to do with his left hand from this angle and more than once he tried to reach down with his right arm, until Derek had to pin it above his head but the noises Derek were making indicated he was doing something right.

            Stiles nodded over at the dresser and Derek reached over to grab the lubricant. Luckily there was still plenty of that left. Stiles withdrew his fingers and held them out as Derek squeezed a generous dollop onto them. The sight of the two of them doing that together, working in unison, made Stiles very happy and incredibly turned on.

            “God Stiles,” Derek breathed heavily as he slipped a finger in.

            He could feel Derek spasming around his digit, but the were' was already very good at relaxing himself.

            “Been practising have you?” Stiles asked.

            “For years,” Derek said with a smile, echoing Stiles’ response to that question all those months ago.

            He slipped in a second finger, working Derek's very compliant ass, while Derek himself was still working at the erections clutched in his fist.

            “Please Stiles,” said Derek. His voice was hot and breathy. Stiles nodded, unable to formulate words he was so nervous with anticipation.

            Derek let go of their dicks and pulled himself off of Stiles' probing fingers. He positioned himself so that he was kneeling, one leg either side of Stiles' hips and began to rub the cleft of his ass up and down the hard cock that Stiles was quickly slicking up with his lube covered fingers.

            “You sure about-” was all Stiles managed before Derek reared up and positioned himself over Stiles. Wriggling backwards and forwards he lowered himself onto Stiles, until he was full impaled against him.

            Stiles could feel everything. Every tiny movement Derek made, inside and out. His deft attempts to relax his backside and allow Stiles’ entrance. The twisting moves as he lowered himself down. The way he rose up just a fraction before trying to come down again. If the friction hadn't been enough to send Stiles over the edge, the look on Derek's face was about it do it. Concentrated, as he worked them both. Stiles had to think frantically about his Spanish homework to stop himself from coming before they'd even started.

            Derek sat for a second on top of Stiles, measuring out his breathing before deciding the time to go.

            “Still the one in control I see,” Stiles laughed.

            Derek opened his eyes and looked down at Stiles.

            “Is that okay? I'm not-”

            “Baby steps, Derek. Baby steps.”

            Leaning down Derek kissed him softly, bringing himself back off of Stiles slightly. Lips still attached, Derek pushed his hips down as Stiles instinctively thrust up. Derek's face went taught, and they stayed like that until Stiles slowly tilted his hips back and then forward again. He could feel Derek squeezing against every inch of him. The next thrust came a little sooner than the last, Derek matching him motion for motion.

            Derek lowered his face onto Stiles' neck, grunting with each new surge. Stiles rubbed his face against the top of Derek's head, pulling him up into a kiss that jerked every time their hips did. Derek was whispering something over and over again, but Stiles was too lost in the sensation of Derek clamped around him to realise what it was.

            As Stiles readied his next thrust, he slipped out. The moan of loss Derek made, a keening animal whine, almost made Stiles come over him then and he was far from done. Lord knows when he might get this chance again.

            Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek's waist and flipped him over. Derek just lay on the bed, spread eagled and debilitated with lust. With a needy kiss to the nearest part of Derek he could find, Stiles knelt up and rubbed himself into Derek again. He hooked his arms up under Derek's knees and began to thrust forward. It was difficult at first to get the angle and rhythm right and it wasn't long before Stiles thighs were burning from the effort but the sounds coming from Derek were making every bit worth it. Barely suppressed screams were ground out through clenched teeth, his face contorting between strain and complete relaxation.

            “Look at me,” ordered Stiles.

            Derek had to force his eyes open, his head bucking away from eye contact with every thrust that hit just right but he brought it back afterwards. Stiles kept looking into those hazel wonders as he thrust in and in. He was no match for Derek's brutal pounding but he seemed to be doing his job alright. The intensity between them was nearly sending him over the edge with every motion. Trying to slow down and prolong the moment only made Stiles want to crash forward even harder and faster with the next thrust.

            Stiles fell forward, still jerking his hips against Derek. His head moved backwards and forwards across Derek's chest, and the older man brought his hands up to rub Stiles' back.

            “I can't go on much longer,” Stiles gasped out.

            “Me either. Just do for it. Please.”

            It was the 'Please' that did it.

            Still lying across his chest Stiles rammed into Derek over and over until he heard a strangled gasp from below him. Derek clamped down on his dick even tighter, though Stiles didn't think it was possible, and he knew that Derek was coming. Hard. Along with the tightness, it was enough to send Stiles tipping over the edge.

            He could feel himself shooting up into Derek, the heat concentrated as his come forced itself into the too tight passage. He couldn't breathe the entire time he was shooting. He was blind, deaf and dumb. All he could do was hold on for dear life as he felt his entire body constrict around him, all sensation focused entirely on his dick.

            When he could finally breathe, he choked out a deep throaty pant. He became aware of Derek's hand on his backside, holding the two of them together as he savoured the moment. Derek put his hand on the back of Stiles' head and lifted it. He brushed his nose against Stiles' lips and parted his own before lowering them on to each other. Stiles felt a hint of tongue in his mouth and chased it before Derek leant his head back down on the pillow.

            Stiles started to laugh. He could feel the shaking of Derek's chest as he joined in as well. Still giggling they kissed and Stiles rolled over sideways, lying next to Derek. His whole body was shaken right through. Derek wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close. Stiles ran his fingers up and down Derek's body as he wallowed in the moment.

            “Well that was an experience,” said Stiles when he finally remembered how to talk.

            “Mhmm,” Derek hummed. His arms were still wrapped firmly around Stiles as he asked, “Can I go now? It's been long enough after, right.”

            “Remember what I said about the jokes. How they were seriously unfunny?”

            Derek scootched closer, wrapping a leg over Stiles'.

            “I'm not going anywhere... except to the bathroom.” Derek sat up quickly, the sudden lack of warmth making Stiles shudder.

            “Hurry back,” Stiles called in a sing song voice.

            As he waited, Stiles climbed under the sheets and snuggled down. His mind wasn't racing like it had been the first time they'd had sex in this room and it wasn't befuddled like most of the times after. He was just content. Happy.

            When he returned, Derek clambered into bed behind Stiles, wrapping him up without a word. Stiles leant back into Derek and smelled his musk. He wasn't going to change the sheets straight after this time. Whenever he was in bed he wanted to be with Derek, whether the man was physically there or not. Derek gave him a biting kiss on the shoulder.

            “Thank you,” Derek said.

            Stiles didn't need to ask what for. It wasn't for anything.

            “Thank you,” he replied and pulled Derek's arms tighter around him.

            He felt sleepiness begin to claim him even though it was still relatively early.

            “Tell me something about your life Derek,” he asked. “Before I met you?”

            “What do you want to know?” Derek asked. He sounded sleepy to, or perhaps that was just what happy sounded like on Derek.

            “Whatever you want to tell me. Your family. What you did before you came back to Beacon Hills. What it's like being an alpha. Anything. I just want to know what's going on in that gorgeous head of yours.”

            Derek rubbed the tip of his nose along the top of Stiles' back.

            “I lost every one in the fire,” he said after a moment. Stiles had been expecting to start with something lighter but if Derek wanted to open up he wasn't going to stop him. “The whole family was down for the Wolf Moon celebration. That's what Kate wanted to know from me. When it was best to strike.”

            Stiles twisted round so that he was facing Derek. His eyes were distant even as they traced Stiles' muscles.

            “The only people who weren't there were me, Laura and my aunt.”

            “Ella,” said Stiles without thinking.

            He must have memorised the name when his own aunt had said it. Derek was frowning at him now.

            “Yeah. How did you know that?”

            “My aunt said something.” Stiles wasn't about to raise the precise nature of their aunt’s relationships. “Said she was a runt, I think.”

            Derek nodded. “Normally two when werewolves have a kid, the kid is a were'. Sometimes though it's born human.”

            “You're all human Derek,” said Stiles brushing the hair out of Derek's face. It had gotten all messed up in their tumbling.

            “Furry little problem, I remember. You know what I mean.”

            Derek carried on talking about how they'd been shipped off to the aunt they'd never really known, the one who wanted nothing to do with life as a pack or anything beyond the regular world most people knew. How he'd hated himself, refused to even try fitting in at his new school. How his sister had been the one to drag him through high school and even attempt a few terms at college before giving up. Distancing himself from the only people he had left, afraid that he would hurt them again. Laura telling him she was coming back to Beacon Hills to look for something, and rushing after her, terrified that she was going to get hurt. The absolute numbness that had settled over his life when he realised that she had been.

            There were happier memories too. Before the fire, when the Hale pack was a pack. His Dad's pride over his son's strength and courage. Peter as he was before, all sass and humour. His Mom taking him for hunts in the forest.

            It was late into the night when Derek finally stopped, his voice trailing off as he yawned. Stiles was already half asleep, snuggled down beside Derek's body.

            “Feel better now?” asked Stiles. Derek growled his affirmation. “Good. I want you to feel like you can tell me anything.”

            “I do,” said Derek. He was slurring slightly from sleep. “It's 'cause I love you and stuff.”

            Stiles felt a warmness blossoming, starting from his toes and spreading upward, making his whole body tingle.

            “Derek?” he said.

            “Hmm?”

            “I 'and stuff' you too.”

            “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus The Woman in Black ends. With a bang and then a whisper. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read and comment, I really appreciate it. It makes the RSI and late nights of writing after a long day at work worth it. 
> 
> BUT the story isn't over yet. I'm currently working on the sequel 'The Woman in Red', the third and final main story in the Three Times a Lady series. If you want to get any hints on what it might be about follow me on tumblr (username is also tanwencooper). I post musings, snippets and whine about how the characters won't do what they're told on there. But I'll give you a preview of the blurb here now! Once again, thank you so much for reading. Hope to hear from you all soon.
> 
> The Woman in Red: Stiles has never had it better. He and Derek are hopelessly in love, the pack is stronger than ever and Stiles' finally getting a handle on his new powers. Yes. All things considered, life is pretty damn good right now.
> 
> But things can never stay good forever. Something is moving in the shadows and the whole of Beacon Hills is a target. Nothing comes without a cost and Stiles will have to pay the price for the powers he has been given: Sometimes you have to do what is right, even when it might cost you everything.

**Author's Note:**

> There are going to be a few trigger warnings coming up on certain chapters, but they are all fairly mild. Just a heads up now. As always I really really want constructive critisism. I strive to be as realistic as possible, so if you have anything to say please do. Whether it's 'I don't like your style' to 'that sexual position is physically impossible' I appreciate it all. I am a straight woman, so my experience is limited and any advice is appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr at http://tanwencooper.tumblr.com/ for updates on Woman in Black and Woman in Red, the last part I'm currently writing. It's pretty much just Sterek with a few other funnies thrown in. 
> 
> Enjoy!


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